Anne of Russia
by Victoria of England
Summary: What if Henry was the older son of Henry VII, and Anne was a princess? When they are married, Henry hates her, but Anne thinks they can be happy. Is she right?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: In order to make this work, I had to change a lot of birthdates, death dates and families. I had to change the Boleyn family's name back to their historical original, Bowen. I hope nobody minds too much, and thanks for reading this story!**

_18 March 1511_

Henry Tudor, Prince of Wales, didn't really like his new bride, and she knew it.

Anna Vasilyevna Boleynia, Tsarevna of Russia, didn't really like her new husband. Her brother, Ivan, the tsar of Russia, had insisted she marry this English prince, however, so she would do as she was told. The marriage was part of an alliance between Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, Portugal, Russia, England and Scotland. Through this, Anne was to be married to Henry Tudor, Prince of Wales, and would one day become Queen of England. A Spanish princess, Katherine of Aragon, was going to come to marry Arthur Tudor, the Duke of York. Margaret Tudor, Princess of England, was going to marry James IV of Scotland.

As she was only a girl, Anna was not informed about the entire treaty, only that she was to treat everyone in England with respect and be the best wife she could be to Prince Henry. Her name was changing from Anna Vasilyevna Boleynia, Tsarevna of Russia, to Anne Boleyn, Tsarevna of Russia, though most people would call her "princess," as that was what they referred to the daughters and sisters of kings, and a tsar was a king.

Anne would not deny that Prince Henry was handsome. He was tall, and only twenty years old to her sixteen. They had been betrothed for three years, and in that time had exchanged letters. Anne thought herself good at the English language, though she did struggle sometimes.

People smiled at Anne kindly at her wedding reception, speaking with unfamiliar words. She knew it would soon come time to do the one thing she dreaded most about being married – but she could not deny her husband this new right. She didn't _not_ like him, she supposed, and she hoped they would be happy. She liked his friends, Charles Brandon, William Compton, and Anthony Knivert, to be sure. Prince Arthur was only a year her junior, and she liked him well enough as well. The English people and courtiers were kind to her and she would like them, once she understood them better.

She felt her husband take her hand.

"We ought to go to bed now, sweetheart," he said gently.

"Yes," Anne agreed, through her thudding heart. "We should." Simple sentences like this were easy for her, but it was long conversations in which she struggled. As she allowed herself to be lead out by this new husband, Anne felt the eyes of all the royal family on her. Prince Arthur and Princess Mary looked sympathetic – Princess Margaret had already left for Scotland – but Henry VII and his mother, Margaret Beaufort, looked formidable and intimidated. Unconsciously, Anne felt herself sink closer to Henry.

The next morning, Anne woke up dazedly. She was in an unfamiliar bed, and she felt strangely sore.

Ah, yes, now she remembered. Last night had been surprisingly enjoyable, albeit quite painful. But Henry was gentle, more than she had expected, and clearly had experience with what they were doing. Once he was finished, however, she had fallen asleep, and was not present now.

"Your Highness?" she heard a voice, and looked up to see Nan Saville, one of her ladies-in-waiting.

"Yes?" she said.

"What would Your Highness like to wear today?" the other woman questioned.

"Whatever would be appropriate," she declared, as she was not yet aware of what was appropriate to wear on what occasions in this strange country. Another lady, Madge Shelton came forward with a turquoise dress, and the two ladies helped Anne put it on.

Henry had to admit that he'd like spending the night with his new bride. He didn't like her, but she was certainly attractive. Her accent was unbearable, and her English more fragmented than she realized, but at least they hadn't spoken much that night. Once they had finished, she'd began to drift to sleep, and he had, as well.

Unlike her, he was not a virgin. She clearly was, he could tell that, she he'd ordered the ladies who had arrived to let her sleep in, and that she would very well be sore in the morning. He was trying to be kind, but she was not someone he wanted to spend his whole life with.

The accent and fragmented English were the worst. He wished that they would just go away, and wondered if Arthur's bride, Katherine of Aragon, would have an accent as well. He hoped he did, as he didn't want to be the only one who couldn't understand his wife.

He didn't know much about her. He did know she was energetic – too much, he decided. She had a seductive look about her, and her family was reputed to have tempers worse than his own.

They mystery to Henry was why everyone else loved her so much.

All of his friends, all of the courtiers, everyone who had seen her, declared that she was smart, witty, charming, intelligent, kind, athletic, elegant, regal, proper…. The list of compliments they showered her with went on and on.

But Henry didn't see it.

Even his father, Henry VII, and his grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, seemed to like her.

"She's a good one," Lady Margaret had declared. "Finest family in the world, except for ours… and she'll make a good Queen. The people already love her."

His father had agreed. "And she's probably fertile," he'd added. "She looks it, at least. A fine match for any prince. You should be proud to have her, son."

Henry was proud to have her in theory – tsarevna of Russia, the grandest princess in the world. But he simply couldn't stand her.

Not that he would ever let her know that, of course. He would treat her well in public and have little to do with her in private, and once they had a few sons he would leave her for mistresses who he liked better. As his father had pointed out, the people loved her already, and she was a fine match in terms of family connections and a dowry. He couldn't just set her aside – it would be political suicide and would jeopardize the entire peace treaty between England and all those other countries.

"Hello!" Charles Brandon called to his friend. "How was your night?"

"Cold," Henry laughed. "I spent it all in Russia." The boys laughed jubilantly. Henry knew that soon their days of idly hunting and riding and playing sports would be over. He and Anne were going to travel to Ludlow Castle as Prince and Princess of Wales. Of course, these youngsters would be his companions, as his advisors, along with some men his father would send, and both his and Anne's households. But they would be the governors of Wales, then, and fun and games would have to take the back seat.

_4 May 1511_

Anne, Princess of Wales, had never been sorry that she'd lived in Russia her whole life.

"It's so beautiful!" she marveled at the countryside of England. Moscow never had anything like this that she had seen, with these bright colors showing so early in springtime.

"England is much warmer than Russia, though colder than much of Europe," Sir Charles Brandon informed her, while her husband simple grunted at her side. All of his friends had been knighted before heading off to Ludlow, where they were going now.

"It's simply amazing!" Anne continued. "And the country in itself! Everything is so spread out! I imagine there were parts of Russia like that, too, but I never left Moscow unless I absolutely had to."

"Why not?" Sir William Compton asked incredulously.

"Ivan was paranoid," Anne rolled her eyes. "Before he became tsar, I was kept under lock and key with Ivan and our brother Yuri. Once he became tsar, he started to freak out. He gave Yuri and I every material item we ever wanted, but if we wanted to go riding or hunting, we had to take armed escorts and couldn't go very far as it was."

"I'm sorry to hear that, your Highness," Sir Anthony Knivert put in, not wanting to be the only one without the attention of the beautiful princess.

"I think I shall be happy at Ludlow," Anne declared optimistically. "And in all of England, I think I shall be happy. It is such a wonderful country."

Henry meanwhile, was angry at his friends. Why were they talking with her so much? Clearly it was a struggle for them to understand each other, so why did they even try? Women were supposed to look pretty and have babies, not talk everyone's ears off in their absurd accents!

Princess Anne was slowly growing closer to her attendants.

She had her favorites, naturally. Nan Saville, Madge Shelton, Margaret Wyatt, Bridget Wingfield, and Mary Bowen were a few of her favorites.

Even to those favorites, Anne could not express her newest dreams.

From childhood, Anne had been taught that children were the best part of a woman's life. Giving her husband children – no, sons – was her most important duty. For herself, she had always been fond of the little boys and girls running around the palace, the children of servants and courtiers, and one of the reasons she had wanted to marry was to have children.

And now her courses were late.

She did not send for a midwife yet, as she knew was the best way to discover if her hopes could possibly be true, nor did she voice the possibility to anyone. Of course, a few of her ladies must know – they did not say anything, but Anne could see from the looks on their faces whenever they made eye contact with her.

Anne might be with child!

**A/N: So… I'll try to update as soon as possible, let me know if there's something you want to see in this story. Also, should Anne have this baby, or miscarry it? **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, I got so many more reviews than I thought I would! I'm glad you're all interested in this story!**

**Disclaimer: I own only the OCs, so far just the Lyons family. **

_12 July 1511_

Henry, Prince of Wales, was absolutely furious.

No one would tell him what had happened – apparently, Anne had almost lost the baby. There had been some accident, according to Dr. Linacre, and now, though Anne was only four months along, she would be confined to bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy.

Because of the scare, his grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, had come down to help Anne carry her child to full term. Henry VII had decided that his child was more important than any could imagine, simply because if he was a boy, as they all hoped, he would be the King of England one day.

"What happened?" Henry growled angrily. His friends, who had looked up at him as he entered the room, glanced at each other anxiously. They all liked Anne, but they knew that Henry held some grudge against her – the loss of his bachelorship, perhaps – and didn't want to make any trouble for her.

"She did everything she should have," Charles Brandon finally said. "Her ladies were walking with her, and there were guards nearby and everything. Anyhow, we're not quite sure what was happening, but something startled her. She jumped back about a foot, and let out a shriek. Problem was, she landed on something slippery, and her foot slipped, and she fell down something terrible. Dr. Linacre was there, and thank goodness for it too, else she'd have lost the baby."

Henry muttered incoherently under his breath.

"Well," he grumbled, "At least I won't have to see much of her these next few months," he mumbled, trying to be optimistic.

"That's hardly nice," Lady Margaret Pole, the lady in charge of the household, scolded him. Lady Margaret had been born a princess, as her father was the brother of Edward IV, but when the Tudors took over she had gladly renounced her claim to the throne. Besides, her claim was nothing next to that of her cousin, Elizabeth of York, who was wife to Henry VII and mother of the Prince of Wales. "She's a sweet girl, Henry, and I don't know why you don't see it."

"You'd best not do anything to upset her, now," Lady Margaret Beaufort came in. "You want a son, an heir, don't you boy?"

"Yes," Henry grumbled reluctantly. "Very well, I shan't be mean, Grandmother."

Whether he would admit it or not, Henry was terrified of his grandmother, and he would do exactly as she told him to do for his entire life. She was just that sort of woman.

"You'll come visit every day," she added, "and cheer her up a bit. Your father did that with your mother, and she never had a miscarriage."

_13 July 1511_

"Oh, good, you're here," Lady Beaufort said approvingly to her grandson. "I thought you wouldn't be coming, and then I would have scolded you something fierce."

Henry shuddered at the thought of being reproached by his grandmother in front of his court. She hastened away, and he approached Anne's bed cautiously as her ladies curtsied to him. He ignored them.

Despite his strong dislike for her, Henry could not help but let out a boisterous laugh when he saw her disgruntled face.

"You look angry, sweetheart," he said, trying to explain his laugh.

"Angry?" she questioned, clearly in a temper. "I've got to stay in bed for _five months!_ I'm not angry, I'm furious! Furious and bored," she finished, pouting when she was done. Despite her accent, Henry understood her perfectly, and her little speech had him laughing all the more.

"Don't be disgruntled," he told her, still laughing. "It doesn't become you. And it shall be worth the months of boredom once we have our son."

"Easy for you to say," Anne mumbled under her breath, and the only one who heard her was Mary Bowen, who was standing closest to her. Mary giggled, and everyone else looked confused.

"My father, brother and sister are going to be visiting soon," he told her, "So you'll have some more company."

"Oh, good," Anne smiled, and even Henry had to admit that she had a beautiful smile. "I do like Prince Arthur and Princess Mary! But the King scares me… almost as much as the Lady Beaufort does." This prompted a round of laughs from the others, most of who were also frightened of the King and his mother, though few would admit it.

"She likes you," Charles Brandon grumbled. "Imagine how frightening she is to those of us she_ doesn't_ like!"

"I haven't the slightest idea as to why she likes me," Anne announced, "Especially if she doesn't like any of you. I admit I've always thought myself a likeable person. I suppose it's simply because of my powerful brother, and that I'm carrying England's heir. But then, didn't she hate Elizabeth of York?"

"Yes, she did," William Compton told her amongst chuckles. "And it's likely she'll hate Katherine of Aragon, too. You're the only one she'd ever like, Your Highness."

"Well, if that's not flattery," she giggled. But Anne herself would switch the admiration of Lady Beaufort for that of her husband in a heartbeat. Perhaps he would like her when their child came, in five more months.

Five months, she told herself. That's all I shall have to endure.

_15 July 1511_

Prince Arthur, Duke of York, though his brother was being rather silly over this whole thing.

Anne was sweet, he thought, and if his brother didn't like her accent, or the customs, then he would just have to suck it up. Arthur himself would suck it up if he didn't like Katherine, the Spanish princess he would have to marry.

"I like Anne ever so much," Princess Mary announced, bouncing up and down in the seat next to him. "I'm awful glad she didn't lose the baby, because Henry would be ever so mad if she did. You know him and his tempers, Arthur. I think Father and Grandmother would be awful mad too, but Henry would be the worst."

"It's a mercy that she still has the baby," Arthur agreed, surprisingly not bitter about this child that would replace him as second heir to the throne. He knew his brother's temper well, and would not wish it to be unleashed on the sweet tsarevna who had come from Russia just to be his brother's bride.

"Arthur, what do you think they'll name the baby?" Mary jumped up and down eagerly.

"Henry, I suppose," Arthur guessed. He wouldn't put it past his brother to name his firstborn after himself. He wouldn't put it past Henry to have four or five sons and name them all after himself, if he could!

"Do you think they would name her after me, if the baby is a girl?" Mary inquired, hopeful eyes looking up at him.

"I don't know, Mary, you'll have to ask Henry that one," Arthur smiled indulgently at her. "But if he doesn't, or if he doesn't have a girl at all, then I promise to name my oldest daughter after you."

"Thank you, Arthur!" the excited princess cried, throwing her arms around her brother.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and Arthur looked out to see the desolation that was the principality of Wales. "Well," he sighed, taking his sister's hand, "We're here."

_15 July 1511_

"It's so very good to see Your Highnesses, and Your Majesty," Anne greeted her in-laws nervously.

"We were pleased to hear that the child was not lost," the King declared magnanimously. "And we intend to see to it that all precautions are taken to ensure that the child is born healthy and easily. I've brought my own court physician, Dr. Linacre, to remain here until the child is born."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Anne said, unsure how to finish. She lay awkwardly on the bed, surrounded by her royal in-laws, until Princess Mary bounded up eagerly next to her.

"Does the baby kick you?" she asked, awed.

"Yes," Anne smiled indulgently at her husband's adorable sister, only eleven years old, and took the child's hand. "Put your hand here, and you can feel him kick. He's strong, isn't he?"

"Yes," the princess nodded eagerly. "What are you going to name him?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Anne laughed. "Henry, perhaps, but you should ask your brother."

"I will," the princess announced, running off to find her oldest brother. The King nodded toward Anne and left, beckoning to his younger son. "Come, Arthur, we'd best be off. We can't stay long – only a night or two."

Arthur hovered back a moment to smile at Anne.

"I hope you have a son," he told her, "Because when you do, Katherine of Aragon shall be summoned for me to marry her. But if you have a girl, I promise to love me niece as much as I would my nephew."

"Thank you, Prince Arthur," Anne smiled back at him. "You are the first one to have said something like this to me. I appreciate your kindness." Arthur bowed and left after his father.

_20 July 1511_

"Father!" gasped Mistress Ruth Lyons, "How could you even ask that of me?"

"Now, Ruth," Sir Richard Lyons scolded his eldest daughter. "You must think of the good of the family. If you became the Prince of Wales' mistress, he would pay your dowry when you did marry, and likely find a better match for you in the long run than we ever could."

"But what about my eternal soul, Father?" begged the distressed girl. "I ought to remain pure until marriage – any woman must! You can't possibly expect me to sleep with a married man simply because he is a prince!"

"I can and I do," Sir Richard scolded. "You must think of the good of this family. Your brother would save the cost of your dowry, and likely your sisters would catch better husbands with some of the money from your dowry."

Lady Lyons had to put in her two cents, "I don't see what you're so worked up about. He's younger and handsomer than any man we could get for your husband." This was true, and Ruth could not deny it. She was being sent to Ludlow the next day to serve the Princess of Wales, and her father had ordered her to catch the Prince's eye.

"And there will be other girls with the same orders," Sir Richard had comforted her. "Most likely it will be another girl that the Prince invites to his bed, and you needn't worry yourself. But if you do catch his eye, now you know my wishes on the matter."

"Yes, Father," Ruth replied, tears coming to her eyes. Why must men be so insensitive? She felt a sense of dread that told her it would not be another girl to catch the Prince's eye.

_21 July 1511_

"A whole host of maidens are coming to join your wife's household," Sir William Compton told his friend, the Prince of Wales, jubilantly. "I'll bet some of them, at least, will be willing to have some fun with us bachelors! Why, Henry, shouldn't you be more excited?"

"What use is it?" Henry grumbled. "I'm married now – going to be a father!"

"Don't think all gloomy like that," William laughed. "Doesn't mean you can't have fun with a girl or two. You just pay their dowries like you've always done and they'll come running, like they always do. Just be a bit discreet, so Anne doesn't miscarry. Your father would probably forbid you from female company if she did."

Henry shuddered at the thought. He didn't like Anne any better than he ever had, but he only saw her for an hour or so every day, and he visits got shorter by the day. His friends enjoyed them tremendously – for some unknown reason, they liked Anne and her ladies. Henry simply could not understand why.

He would not admit that her accent and her English were improving. He would not admit that she was funny, and her expressions amused him to no end. He simply couldn't do it.

The boys were interrupted by a mass of teenage girls coming eagerly to the room to greet the Prince of Wales.

"Your Highness," they bowed daintily, each bowing her head. One girl, with long golden hair the mesmerizing blue eyes, knelt with the others but lifted her head to meet Henry's eyes. As he looked her, she held his gaze for a moment before turning hers to the floor.

"Look at that one," hissed William, pointing to another beauty – a brown haired, brown eyed one. He saw one, than another and another – until all he could think of was these lovely ladies that he could spend his nights with.

Perhaps having a pregnant wife wasn't so bad, after all.

_29 August 1511_

It seemed to Ruth that every girl in the Princess of Wales' household had slept in the Prince of Wales' bed.

Every girl, that was, except her. She saw how he tossed girls aside, without a second thought, and likely as not they wouldn't get their dowries paid by him, and none but their families would know of their disgrace by him. She was determined to last longer than that – she would be his mistress for a few months at least, long enough for him to have to pay a dowry for her, long enough, perhaps, that she might give him a son.

These Tudors, she knew, treasured their sons. She couldn't imagine that they would toss aside a healthy boy, leaving him unclaimed, when he could potentially bring honor to their names through great military feats, or through cleverness in the navy and shrewdness as a political advisor. They would raise him and educate him, place him above all others but legitimate heirs.

Of course, this last was an unrealistic wish, but Ruth was sure she would not suffer if she became the Prince of Wales' mistress and gave him a son to be proud of. Yes, that was what she would have to do.

She felt bad, of course, for the Prince was her mistress' husband, and like everyone Ruth was fond of the Princess of Wales, and did not cherish the thought of betraying her. But so many girls did so, and not even to their own advantage. Perhaps the princess would not mind, so long as no woman posed a threat to her and to her son? Ruth doubted it, but she hoped nonetheless.

**A/N: I hoped you all liked it! I thought putting in a mistress would add a little twist to the story, so please tell me what you think. I love getting reviews, good or bad; it honestly just makes my day! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow, I've gotten some great reviews! You guys definitely know how to encourage a girl, so thank you! Oh, and just so you know, Anne's baby is due around December. I own no recognizable characters. **

_1 September 1511_

"Deep breaths," Anne muttered to herself. "Just take deep breaths."

This was what her mother had instructed her to do when she was distressed, so she took the kindly meant advice and tried to use it, though with a temper like Anne's, it didn't seem to work.

"Mistresses," her mother had told her, "are a part of any royal family. They come and go, and rarely last more than a few months, but wives must bear them. There is rarely any love in royal marriages, so men seek to make up for that with other girls. As I say, you must grin and bear it."

But Anne had never been one to grin and bear anything, except perhaps physical pain. "Why?" she finally moaned, thankfully only her ladies were present. "Why is it so hard for men to be faithful?" Her voice got louder and bitterer as she spoke, and a wild fire burned in her eyes.

"You must bear it, dear," a kindly voice whispered in her ear, and Anne looked up to see the pitying eyes of Lady Margaret Pole. "I'm terribly sorry, and I wish it weren't so, but you must think of the baby inside you, and don't distress yourself for its sake."

The woman's earnest face calmed Anne down somewhat – it was something she'd heard the woman was known for, her calm way of making people calm. "Lady Margaret, do get me a pillow. I need to throw something, and scream a little, and then I shall be better."

Lady Pole did as she was ordered, and after her scream and her throw Anne had a good cry.

"There, now," Lady Pole said gently, "I suppose you feel much better now, don't you? And it wouldn't do for the Prince to see you worked up over his mistresses, else he'd get very defensive. He has a temper to rival the worst of them, especially when his conscience has been tweaked."

"How do you know him so well?"

"All of England does, dear," Lady Pole laughed sweetly. "There's no secret about it. Some say Prince Arthur would be the better King – he hasn't got as much of a temper, that duke of York. But I'll allow that he hasn't got much of a constitution, either."

Anne nodded absently, thinking about her new knowledge. Perhaps this knowledge – that Henry's rages were mostly defensive – would help Anne gain her husband's acceptance. That was all she needed right now, really – acceptance. She didn't need him to stop taking mistresses, although that would be nice. She could work on that later, maybe when they were King and Queen. Overall, Anne decided, she'd better work on gaining Henry's friendship, then his love. Once she had _that_ things were bound to go her way.

"Lady Margaret," she hesitated, "Would you be so kind as to help me with my English? I'm dreadfully bored, and I know it needs improvement."

_1 September 1511_

"A fit?" Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Princesses don't have_ fits_."

"This one does, just not in public," Ruth laughed, delightedly tossing her head back and allowing her hair to fall lose. "It was all the Lady Margaret Pole could do to keep her under control. She muffled her screams with a pillow."

Henry did not reply, as he was simply aghast. Anne had thrown a_ fit_? This didn't seem quite right, but it was another reason not to like his wife, and Henry was glad of an excuse for that.

"Don't spread this around," he ordered. "And make sure the other ladies keep quiet about it, too. I don't want all of Europe to know that my wife throws fits over little things. What _was_ the fit over?"

"Mistresses," Ruth sighed, lifting her skirts only an inch to display some of her legs. "She just hated the thought of you getting dirty with other women… she thought she had a right to have you all to herself, as if a woman like her could tie down a man like _you_."

Her words had the desired effect, as the Prince of Wales' eyes grew wide and he quickly looked her over.

"And what do you think on the matter?"

"I think a man can have a mistress if he'd like," Ruth sighed, "And if the woman loves him, she ought to make sure he knows, in the only way she can. And if a child comes and they are disgraced, the man must show his own love by acknowledging the child."

"Yes," Henry said, sensing the promise he would have to make in order to have this woman. "Could you ever love a married man?"

"Oh, no, not most of them," Ruth laughed, "But I suppose there are some that I could. Perhaps only one that I could really love, but I'd rather if your Highness did not ask me." As if to give a hint, she stared hard into his eyes, as she had that first day of her arrival, when she had looked at him, square in the eye. She did not love him – could never love him, but this is what she had to do. A child, she reminded herself, she must have a child by this man. This child would bring her family to glory in England.

"I should never ask a lady to betray her secrets," Henry whispered in her ear. "But I could ask a lady to dance with me."

"Dance!" Ruth threw her head back and laughed, eager to make it seem as though she knew the joke. "But Your Highness, you must notice that there is no music."

Henry gestured to one of the servants in the corner of the room, observing the scene. "Music," was all he said, and the man, a musician, took up his instrument and began to play a tune.

"In that case," Ruth took his offered hand, "There can be no objection on my part."

They swirled around and around in the room, and Ruth felt that this part of courting the Prince of Wales would be fun. She did love nothing more than to dance, and as she felt herself spin throughout the luxurious chambers, she wondered if perhaps it would all be worth it, and in ten years' time she would be glad that she had been a mistress of the Prince of Wales – surely by then he would be the King of England.

Ruth would not deny that she felt a thrill of anticipation as she was whirled about the grand room, nor would she deny that when the Prince of Wales stopped dancing to lean over and kiss her, she felt anything other than delight. Victory was sweet, and she need not be gracious with it.

_5 September 1511_

"A threat? A serious threat," Anne mumbled, raging inside. "How could a mistress of one night possibly be a threat?"

"That is what worries me, madam," Nan Saville told her poor mistress. "She has been with him every night for four nights, and still he lavishes her with attention. The other girls are green with envy, and some say she will be made his maitresse en titre before he is even King."

"She will be no threat once I have my son," Anne tried to convince both herself and her loyal lady. "She cannot marry him anyway, for son or no son, he is my husband. But nonetheless, a son will make me more secure, and he will never set me aside."

"No, but with a maitresse en titre your power will be diminished," Nan told her. "Elizabeth of York was Queen in name only. In truth Lady Beaufort was Queen, and anyone she liked was successful. A mistress may take over as Queen, just as any mother can."

"But none will," Anne stated clearly, with the will that ran through the blood of the Boleynia family. "No mistress will have a say in anything over _me_. I will not allow it. I am the sister of the tsar, the wife of the Prince of Wales, and only they and their superiors may tell _me_ what to do."

"I hope you are right, Madam," Nan Saville declared, honestly and truly. "I really do hope you are right."

"I am right," Anne declared, her hand going to her stomach. "I carry his son. He will do nothing to hurt me. And my family will sit on the throne of England for generations to come, I swear it. My son will be King of England, and no mistress can change that. No empty-headed English whore can change that."

_8 September 1511_

_My dear brother Ivan, _

_ I must first apologize for not writing to you sooner. Such misery here, in this strange, foreign land! I do miss Russia so. I am writing because I am surrounded here by kind but unfamiliar faces, and wish that you would sent my dearest companions, Ekaterina Vasilyevna, Yelizaveta Nicholaievna, Marta Petrova, and Anya Mikhailevna to England for me. Their presence would be a comfort heretofore unknown to me, and perhaps their kindly faces would spare me some loneliness in this foreign land. _

_ I am with child, and soon I shall have a son. He shall be the Duke of Cornwall, and when his grandfather Henry VII dies, many years from now, he shall be Prince of Wales. And on the sad day his own dear father dies he shall be King of England, though likely I shall not live to see it so. My husband does not care much for me, and seeks the company of other women. I myself despair of this, and wish it were not so. I seek only his acceptance of me, and of our children. _

_ The King and Lady Beaufort, his mother, are the kindest to me, and my ladies see to it that I am never wanting of anything. I shall write you again upon the birth of my son. Your loving and obedient sister, _

_**A**__**nne, Princess of Wales **_

In a flourish, Anne signed her name. She dared not hint at her unhappiness, even to her own dear brother, for it could be construed as treason. She longed for her mother, and for her dearest companions. She longed for winter, as beautiful as summer was, and the ice and snow to coat the ground. What wouldn't she do to be back in Moscow, and to find Ivan and Yuri and the three of them would sneak past their jailors and bundle up in their warmest clothing, accompanied only by one friend each. They would go to the little lake, or the park, and skate around as if they were the most normal children in the world. She missed their snowball fights and snowmen, competitions and wars in the cold snow with frost nipping at their noses. Oh, what wouldn't she do to go home!

"The winter will come," she reminded herself, "And when winter comes it shall be like you are home again," she hoped this was true, but she doubted it. In winter, she would still be confined to her bed, awaiting the birth of this heir… and then, come the New Year, when her baby was born, she would be caring for the precious child, not dancing about in the snow like a child herself.

Perhaps things would never be the same, but they would be bearable if she had her ladies with her. She thought of them and the changes they would make to adjust to England. They would cease to be Ekaterina, Yelizaveta, Marta, and Anya and become Katherine, Elizabeth, Martha, and Anne. But the four of them would be together, and that would be such a comfort to her. With those dearest friends at her side, Anne thought that she could bear even Henry's coldness and dislike.

_10 September 1511_

Henry's chore of visiting Anne grew more tedious every day. To make up for it, he scheduled his visits during the times that Ruth would be serving her mistress.

He pretended not to see Anne's eyes flare with jealousy or sadness as he flirted with his mistress in front of her. He pretended he did not see his friends give him exasperated looks, as though wondering why he was so open with his infidelities. He pretended all he could see was his mistress, Ruth, and the other ladies glaring at her with jealous eyes, and blushing whenever his gaze fell upon them.

Perhaps he ought to give Ruth, his maitresse en titre, her own household. He would not pull her from Anne's, not now while Anne was with child, but once the Duke of Cornwall was born he would remove her from her position and place her in a more honorable one, allowing more ladies to come to wait upon_ Ruth_, not Anne.

"I have asked my brother the tsar to send some of my dear friends to join my household," he hear Anne say.

"I shall send them back," he told her, ignoring the look of shock and hurt in her eyes.

"But they are my dearest and oldest friends," she protested weakly. "I should love so much for them to be here. And I would trust no one else more than they."

"I don't care," he said, thinking as his conscience caught up with him of that awful accent. He couldn't bear to have more of that here! "I am the Prince of Wales and your husband and you shall obey me. I will not have any foreigners here."

Anne's eyes welled up, but she held in the tears. Oh, would that little hope be taken from her, too? Could nothing go her way?

She felt Lady Pole's had one her forehead, and allowed the older lady to comfort her. "Not even one? Could I not have one single childhood companion?"

"None," her husband declared, slipping out of the room and leaving it to silence.

"We'll talk him around," Charles Brandon promised her, "I'm sure he'll like them well enough when he comes."

"Do try," she begged, "Though I'm not sure if even you could change his mind when he is so angry."

"You ought to have some Russian ladies here with you," Mary Bowen told her, "and I'm sure Lady Beaufort and the King shall agree. You could appeal to them against your husband."

"No," Anne shook her head sadly. "If he does not want them then they shall not come. He will only hate me more if I go to his father or grandmother. But I do want them to come, ever so much! Why on Earth does he hate me?"

"He doesn't hate you," William Compton lied. "We'll talk him into it. You just asked at the wrong time. He's in a bad mood today."

_20 September 1511_

"Does everybody take her side?" Henry raged at his friends. "Even all of you, my old friends, will not side with me!"

"See! That's exactly it, Henry! We're your oldest friends, the ones who you took with you to advise you as Prince of Wales. I don't see why you don't allow her to have the same privilege." Henry scowled, walking away.

For days, Henry's conscience argued with him on the matter. Finally, at the end of September, when Anne was beginning to lose hope that she might ever see her friends again, he changed his mind.

"They may come," he told her, none too happily. "But take care that I see very little of them."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Once again, the best reviews. You guys are all awesome!**

_1 October 1511_

Anne gloried in feeling cold.

Every breath of cool air that reached her was a little pleasure – it spoke to her. "I'm coming!" it seemed to say. "I'm winter, and I'll be here soon!" She could almost imagine that the first frost was on its way, or the first snowfall.

She thought that everything would be alright once it was winter. Once her baby was born her position would be very secure – and her husband would love her. Once winter came her friends would come with it, and she would get to have the companionship that she craved.

"Your Highness, do let me close that window," Ruth Lyons offered oh-so-sweetly. "If someone doesn't, then Your Highness will surely catch a chill."

"No, thank you, Mistress Ruth," she coldly refused. The nerve of that insolent girl was unbearable! Who did she think she was, offering to take away Anne's little joy as though she were doing her some great favor?

"Leave it, Mistress Ruth," she heard Mary Bowen say, and thought more fondly of the loyal girl for it. "If her Highness wishes to freeze to death, that is her business. I don't see why you offered – clearly she likes it."

She heard the Lyons girl make a snappy retort.

"Don't mind her," Lady Pole hissed reproachfully, but comfortingly. "You ought to be above that. If she wants to make the situation harder on both of you, then she shall. It's up to you to take it with grace."

"I've never had much talent for taking anything with grace," Anne reminded the well-meaning lady. "I have a particularly hard time with those who don't know their place."

"But you must bear it," Lady Pole reminded her.

"I haven't any idea what I would do without you," Anne sighed. "I'd likely storm up into a fit that would make the world laugh at me… and result in an annulment as well, most likely."

"Then it's good that I'm here," Lady Pole laughed. "I'll admit I'm very fond of you, Princess. I shall hate to lose you when the King dies, and you go with your husband to London as Queen."

"You shall come with me, of course," Anne promised. "You may not be one of my official ladies-in-waiting, but I am still fond of you. And my husband very much likes you and yours. I doubt he would hesitate to ennoble your husband – or even grant you your brother's titles of Earl of Warwick and Salisbury."

"Now that would be too much to ask for," Lady Pole said graciously. "I am grateful enough that you want me to come with you, Princess."

_2 October 1511_

"A letter has come for you, Princess," Madge Shelton announced. "It's from your own lady mother."

"Oh, wonderful!" Anne cried in delight. She missed her mother so much – the ache opened again, thought it closed a bit at the thought of a letter – word from Mother!

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she read the heart-felt words. Her mother missed her, too, she could tell, but this was written before the letter that she'd sent not a month ago. She bid her daughter to fall soon with child, for her own good, and to write, for the mother missed her daughter so.

"I love your brothers dearly," that good woman wrote. "But a daughter is the child a woman can confide in, as we learned many a time. I wish you would write frequently, darling, for your companionship leaves a hole in my heart. Your brothers send their love, and bid you write soon. All the love in the world, Mother."

After reading those heartfelt words, Anne wept for hours.

"Poor darling, she'll never see her mother again," Mary Bowen wept to her cousin Madge Shelton. "Imagine that! Oh, I think it would be perfectly horrid not to have Mother."

"Yes," Madge agreed. "And worse still, no friends in the world to comfort her. I do feel for that poor Princess, and for once in my life I'm certainly glad that I'm not royal."

"It wouldn't be worth it," Nan Saville agreed. "Poor Princess Margaret – Queen Margaret of Scotland now – must feel the same way, but at least King Henry and Lady Beaufort sent some companions for her. I don't see why the Prince must be so cruel and not allow the Princess any small comforts."

"He despises her, though for what reason I can't say," Mary Bowen shook her head sadly. "Perhaps things will change between them when the Princess gives birth to a son."

_6 October 1511_

"I am sorry about her," Henry told his wife of his grandmother, one of the few people who he liked less than Anne.

"She's alright," Anne shook her head, feeling sorry for Lady Beaufort. "She just has her goals, and is determined to be seen as a strong woman in order to accomplish them."

"She's nice to you," Charles Brandon told her with envy. "She's never that nice, not to anyone. How do you do it? What have you done to her?"

"I'm not sure," Anne laughed, delighted with the compliments. "With any luck, she'll love this baby, too, and won't take him away from me. I think I should just _die_ if that happened."

"She won't," Henry informed her rather coldly. "She'll allow any children to stay here until my father dies. If they're still young when I become King, then they'll be sent off to have their own households, but if not then they'll travel with us to court."

"I do hope they come, and if they don't that their households aren't far from wherever we are," Anne sighed wistfully. "I absolutely hated being apart from my mother – and she tells me she worried constantly about every little threat. Not that there are any threats to our children's safety… but you do know what I mean."

"I suppose so," Henry grumbled. It didn't make a difference to _him_ where children were raised – they wouldn't see much of them wherever it was.

_12 October 1511_

"I do love it while the Princess is abed," Ruth laughed. "With no Princess in court, I'm almost always singled out as the first lady of the court. I imagine no one would dare if the tsarevna was about."

"You've the most influence with the Prince, and he's the King of this little court," Ursula Sinclair reminded her. "You're almost like a maitresse en titre in the royal court… and sometimes, they've more power than Queens themselves!"

"If I'm still the Prince's mistress when he becomes King, I imagine my status will rise significantly," Ruth agreed. "Foreign ambassadors will make sure to gain my approval, perhaps even above the Princess's. My family could be the most important one at court."

"Yes, it would," others agreed, already eager to placate the girl who held so much potential.

"Not to mention if I gave the King a child," Ruth continued, and there were immediately whispers of speculation. "If I gave the King a child, he would honor me and the child above all else. It would be simply splendid."

"And he'd give you a dowry to marry," Ursula added. "You'd be one of the richest girls ever, and certainly the most heavily dowered knight's daughter in all of England!"

"Yes, the marriage will be advantageous, too," Ruth agreed, "though perhaps not so much as the affair itself. Some Kings have been known to value their mistresses over their wives. Officially, of course, the Queens take preference, but in court events it's the mistresses who have the most influence. I intend to be such a mistress."

_13 October 1511_

"I'm so bored," Anne moaned. She was as good as alone at this moment. Her favorites rarely had time off, as she greedily wanted them with her, so she had sent Lady Margaret Pole, Mary Bowen, Madge Shelton, Margaret Wyatt, Bridget Wingfield, and Nan Saville off to have time to themselves. But now she was with the ladies of whom she was not so fond, and Henry and his friends showed no sign of visiting today.

"Perhaps your Highness would like to read," one lady, Susanna Harvey, offered.

"What are you reading, Mistress Susanna?" Anne asked her.

"Oh," the girl blushed. "Nothing important, Madam. It's _The 95 Thesis_ by a man named Martin Luther, protesting the sale of indulgences. It's … it's heretical, Madam, and I ought not to be reading it." Susanna Harvey blushed, looking away from her reading.

"May I see it?" Anne asked, politely. She was glad Lady Margaret Pole was away. The woman was a strict Catholic, and would never condone such reading. "You forget that I was raised Russian Orthodox, not Catholic, even if I did convert."

Timidly, Susanna Harvey showed Anne _The 95 Thesis_.

They're very heretical, Madam," she explained. "The King and the Prince of Wales would be mad to know you had them. They're as bad as some of Luther's other works, which are forbidden, as are William Tyndale's works… Tyndale translated the Bible into English, which is certainly illegal and heretical."

"These are fascinating," Anne said, looking at the strong and undeniable arguments. "Some of the points this man makes are certainly true. Mistress Susanna, if you can bring me more of this so-called heretical work, as well as that by the man Tyndale, I would be grateful. But please do so as discreetly as possible."

"Of course, Madam," the servant agreed. This entire exchange was spoken in whispers, and none of the other ladies heard.

Just then, the door opened and Mistress Ruth Lyons entered.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Your Highness," she giggled madly. "You see, I was so busy with a _certain someone_, that I _completely_ lost track of time and didn't realize that I ought to be in here attending you." She giggled some more, making it perfectly clear who that "certain someone" was.

Anne took a deep breath to steady herself. This girl was pushing her limits – but she had to keep her cool. Her mother had always told her that her temper would be the death of her one day.

"You are forgiven, Mistress Ruth," she said. "Take care the offense is not repeated. Punctuality is a very desirable trait in a young lady."

"Of course, Your Highness," Ruth curtsied and set about her work, giggling inwardly to herself.

"Mistress Susanna, you are free to go. Take care to do as I asked you to." Susanna curtsied and left, leaving Anne with _The 95 Thesis_.

_20 October 1511_

"Well, it's about time!" King Henry VII announced to his son, Prince Arthur, Duke of York. "Your sister Margaret has written to me that she is with child again. Considering the others – James, Arthur, and a daughter – are all dead, we'd best hope that she has a son this time. Her husband James IV will want an heir."

"Of course, Father," Arthur replied. "It would be wonderful if both Anne and Margaret had sons for the countries. The future rulers would be cousins, and blood ties are strong enough that perhaps they would be allies for life. Speaking of allies, Father, when will my bride be coming?"

"In due time, Arthur," the King blew him off. "You know she cannot come until your brother has a male heir, which will likely happen in December. She should be sent for around February – we can't have her coming in January, it's the coldest time of the year."

"Of course, Father," Arthur nodded. "But what if it takes Anne and Henry years to have a son? What if they have only daughters and stillborn children and miscarriages?"

"They won't," the King snapped. "They're young and fertile and they will have a son. And you will wait until they do before you marry Katherine of Aragon!"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Once again, I love my reviewers! You guys are why I keep writing. Thanks!**

_22 October 1511_

Catalina, Infanta of Spain, was impatient.

Her sisters were all married, with children, and her brother was dead. She was the youngest of them all, so she knew that she would be the last married. She knew that her marriage to Prince Arthur, Duke of York, would not and could not take place until his older brother Henry, Prince of Wales, had a son with his wife, Anne of Russia.

But she wanted to be Duchess of York so much… she wanted to travel to England, even though she knew it would be a struggle to adjust to the new culture. That was the fate of princesses, and Catalina was more than happy to suffer that fate if it meant that she might be married.

"_When_ will the Princess of Wales have her son?" she asked her mother, Isabella I, Queen of Castile.

"December," her mother told her for the millionth time. "And it may not be a son, Catalina. She may have a daughter, or a stillbirth. If she does, you will have to wait a little longer to marry the Prince's brother."

Catalina sighed. She knew that things must be this way – the older brother must have a son before the younger brother did, else the son of the younger brother might think himself ahead of his cousin the line of succession if anything should happen to the Prince. But when it was so certain that Anne of Russia would have a son in December, why couldn't she go to England now, that she might marry the Duke as soon as the child was born?

She had suggested this once to her father, Ferdinand II, King of Aragon, but he had told her to hush. She did not dare ask again.

"Focus on the reasons you are glad that you are not married," Maria de Salinas, her best friend and lady-in-waiting said. "You have no husband to break your heart with mistresses, and you don't have to leave our beautiful country yet."

"Nor do I have children of my own," Catalina sadly reminded her friend. "I shall love to have children of my own. When we go to England, Maria, I shall have several of them. Oh, happy days are coming!" Catalina danced wildly about the room, laughing as she did so.

"You are a child yet," Queen Isabella told her daughter. "But England shall cure you of that. Be sure that you are in favor with the Lady Beaufort while her son is King, and with Anne of Russia while her husband is King."

"Of course, Mama," Catalina agreed. "You've already told me this."

"I am aware of that," Isabella nodded again, looking thoughtful. "You must be sure that this is so and remember that in England you are neither Queen nor the daughter of the King and Queen. The rulers of that country will have no reason to stand by you should anything bad happen. I do not expect anything bad_ to_ happen, but you must always be aware."

Catalina rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "I _know,_ Mama," she said. "I'll be good, I promise. And I'll write to you often. I imagine I shall miss home, no matter how happy I am there."

_27 October 1511_

"Susanna, come here and explain this to me," Anne said, glancing up from her copy of Tyndale's Bible. The two girls had secretly been reading this, along with some of Tyndale and Luther's other works.

"It's different in English than it is in Latin," Susanna explained, "And I imagine that it's different in Russian, too." She bent over to read the passage that the Princess's finger rested on, until the sound of footsteps made both of them hurry to put their reading materials away and pick up their needlework.

"I don't see why they're coming," Henry grumbled. He had just received word from his father that Anne's ladies from Russia would be arriving sometime in November. He didn't want to tell her, but he felt obligated to do so.

"It's a good thing," William Compton encouraged him. "More girls are never a bad thing, and having some friends around might help Anne with the baby. Besides, there are only four of them. Katherine of Aragon's bringing about twenty, maybe more. Arthur will have to deal with five times the foreigners that you will."

"True," Henry laughed, thinking about what would be his brother's misfortune. "Poor Arthur."

"I'd welcome all those foreign ladies," Charles Brandon said, quirking an eyebrow. "I'm sure they'll be very happy to have me there to comfort them when they feel lost and unfamiliar with our culture and the, ahem, things we do here."

The boys enjoyed a laugh over Charles' little speech, and Anne and Susanna looked up as they finally entered her rooms.

"We shan't stay long," Henry told her coldly. "My father has sent word that four of your former ladies-in-waiting will be arriving from Russia in November. I imagine there is something for you to look forward to."

Anne perked up. "Thank you!" she cried happily. Her eyes lit up, a smile gracing her features. "That is the best news I've heard in months!" If she could have, Anne would have gotten up to dance. Ekaterina, dear, funny Ekaterina, would laugh away all her woes. Solemn Marta would pat her hand as she complained, and offer just the words of comfort that she wanted. Blithe Yelizaveta, the youngest of them all, would dance in circles around her friends, lighting up their world with her innocent smiles and talk of romance. And Anya, clever Anya, the mastermind behind everything they did. Anya would find a way to get back at Mistress Ruth Lyons – and she would do it so cleverly, so slyly, that everyone would know it was her but have no way to prove it. Anne could not wait to see her friends again!

_3 November 1511_

Ruth Lyons was utterly delighted.

"Thank you!" she cried joyously. "Oh, thank you!" she pressed two coins into the woman's hand and danced around the room gleefully.

"What is it?" her sister, Maud Lyons, just arriving from court to serve the Princess of Wales, questioned her. Maud was surprised to see her elder sister so happy.

"Nothing," Ruth sobered up immediately, "At least, not yet. It could be something wonderful… then again, it could be something perfectly terrible. I won't know for a while yet. I'm not going to tell anyone for a month at least."

"Tell anyone what?" John Lyons, their only brother, poked his head into his sister's rooms. "Ruth, what have you done?"

"Exactly what I was supposed to do," Ruth looked delighted. "Imagine how wonderful this will be! This is our chance. This time, we're going to be the ones in the spotlight, not anyone else! We're going to be on top of the world!"

"Ruth, what on Earth has gotten into you?" John asked his sister confusedly. "What has happened? You have to tell us, Ruth, right now. We've got a right to know."

Ruth looked around, though she knew perfectly well that there was no one about. She leaned in for dramatic effect, and both John and Maud imitated her.

"I'm with child."

_4 November 1511_

Maud Lyons felt her conscience burn.

Ruth had done exactly what their father had told her to – be the Prince of Wales' mistress, and have his son.

But it had been ingrained so deeply into Maud that women must not do that. It would hurt the wives of the men whose children they carried – in this case, Anne of Russia. Maud knew that if she were in the Princess' position, she would not want to hear of her husband's illegitimate child that was expected through court gossip.

Personally, Maud would want her own husband to tell her, but with how the Prince hated his wife, Maud did not think that it was likely. The second best thing would be for Ruth to tell her mistress – but changes were that would not be happening either.

No, Maud decided, someone would have to tell the Princess of Wales about Ruth's child before it became public knowledge. And right now, it looked like that person was going to have to be her.

**A/N: Short, but a lot happened. Hope you liked it!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So a lot happened last chapter! This one's not quite so action-packed. Sorry to everyone hoping for an Anne vs. Ruth showdown… its coming, I promise!**

_10 November 1511_

Anne would have been lying if she denied that she was counting down the days until her friends arrived eagerly. She would have been lying if she denied that she had the sneaking suspicion – paranoia, really – that they would not come, and that she would be left alone in this strange world once again.

"You must not be so anxious, my lady," Margaret Pole warned her. "It's not good for the child."

"Nothing is good for the child," Anne grumbled in Russian, which Lady Margaret could not understand. "This child will drive me insane." In English she added, "When are my friends coming?"

"In a week or so," Lady Margaret promised. "I'm sure they will be here soon."

A knock on the door startled both of them, and they looked up to see a nervous looking Maud Lyons.

"If I may have a word with you, Princess," she said awkwardly, her eyes looking anywhere but at the two women. Lady Margaret Pole bowed out courteously, thinking it obviously important if they lady looked so nervous.

"I have been trying to tell you for days," Maud murmured, "But every time I came here, I would be too cowardly to go."

"Tell me now," Anne said kindly, though her words were severe. "Tell me and I shan't find fault with you."

"My sister, Ruth," Maud hesitated. "She is with child. She is with the Prince of Wales' child."

The words took a moment to register to Anne. As they did, she froze. Once by one, the words clicked into place in Anne's mind, and she became aware of only one thing – her husband was going to have a bastard child.

Her breathing increased, and with wild eyes she turned to Maud.

"Tell me – does the Prince of Wales know of this yet?"

"No, Princess," Maud told her. "My sister wants to wait until you have had your child to tell him. She believes that if you have a daughter and the Prince is disappointed, the news of her child will make him higher in his favor. But I – I had to warn you, Princess."

"Thank you," Anne forced herself to calm down. "The child, think of the child," she muttered to herself, thinking not only of her own child, but of this other bastard who would have claims to the affection of her child's father. "Mistress Maud, please send for Margaret Pole and Susanna Harvey, as well as Mary Bowen, Madge Shelton, Nan Saville, Margaret Wyatt and Bridget Wingfield."

Her friends would calm her down – oh, it was Yelizaveta and Marta and Anya and Ekaterina she needed now, but they were not here, so she would have to make do with those who had proved themselves to be loyal to her.

_11 November 1511_

"Won't Anna be glad to see us!" Ekaterina cried jubilantly as the four ladies approached Richmond Palace. This new country was strange, but they would bear through it to see their darling Tsarevna Anna.

"I imagine we'll have grand times when we see her," Yelizaveta laughed happily. "She's so precious, that Anna, and we'll laugh all her worries away. We'll dance and sing and play like we used to… I imagine Anna has made a monstrous number of new friends, too, and they can join us! We're going to be very happy in England, I think. This is the start of a new chapter in our lives!"

"Everything is the start of a new chapter in your life, Yelizaveta," Marta scolded. "I imagine Anna has had some troubles adjusting."

"What I find the strangest is that Anna and I are now to share the same name," Anya laughed. "Yelizaveta is to be Elizabeth, Marta is to be Martha, Ekaterina is to be Katherine, and I'm to be Anne, just as Anna is. How strange and confusing that will be!"

"I wonder what Anna's new husband is like," Yelizaveta whispered conspiratorially, "I'll bet he's handsome, and regal and noble and she's quite the lucky princess! Anna was always lucky back home."

"Anna wasn't lucky, she was just a princess," Marta reminded the naïve child. "Princesses got what they wanted, when they wanted it."

"Oh, hush, Marta, you ruin everything," Yelizaveta laughed. "Anya and I are going to play some wonderful pranks on these English. We can ever reuse some old ones – everyone knows them by heart now, but here they'll be anomalies."

"And Anya shall be the brains behind the entire operation, you foolish child," Ekaterina scolded her fondly. "We love you dearly, but you're so easily distracted, and you lose everything, darling. I doubt you could keep your head if it wasn't attached by your neck."

"I daresay I couldn't, but I've a good many virtues to make up for my far more numerous faults," Yelizaveta acknowledged cheerfully. The carriage full of girls laughed delightedly as they finally came to a stop before the grand palace of Richmond.

"Welcome to Richmond," King Henry said gruffly when they arrived through the doors. "I'm afraid you still have a bit of a journey before you to Ludlow. You'll be staying here for a few weeks, and then you can continue on. My son Prince Arthur will be joining you, as well as my daughter Princess Mary."

"Are Anna and Henry already at Ludlow?" Yelizaveta asked.

"Yes," the King told her. "And from here on out your names change, as I'm sure you already know. Katherine, as you are the eldest, I shall leave you to escort your friends to their chambers."

Ekaterina looked floored by this blatant rudeness, but brushed it off as the English way. "We'll have to get used to it, I suppose. Come, girls, let's go to bed. I do want to meet the Prince Arthur in the morning, and hear from his how Anna is, and what sort of man we will find in his brother."

"If he's anything like his father, we won't be getting anything out of him," Yelizaveta announced quite loudly, causing a few of the courtiers to let out amused giggles.

_25 November 1511_

"Anna!" the girls cried gleefully as they finally went to greet their friend after so many months.

"Oh, Anna," Katherine smiled at her dear friend. "It's so good to see you! We would have been here sooner, except the King held us up for weeks at Richmond! I swear we got there two weeks ago, but we were only allowed to leave yesterday, and even so we didn't make it here 'til night, and we rode as fast as we could, with almost no stops along with way."

"That's alright," Anne laughed. "But oh, dears, it's just so good to see you again!"

"Now, Anna," Martha smiled. "You must tell us everything about England! Who are your friends? Tell us everything about your husband – I've heard he's quite handsome."

"Yes," Anne nodded, signaling for all of her attendants to leave but the four Russians. "Well, I've several friends. Lady Margaret Pole is like a mother-figure here, I suppose, though not quite old enough to be my mother. Mary Bowen, Madge Shelton, Nan Saville, Margaret Wyatt and Bridget Wingfield are some of the ladies to whom I am close. One of the younger girls, Susanna Harvey, has introduced me to a religion that intrigues me greatly. It is not Catholicism, but it is not Christianity."

"Like Russian Orthodox, at home," cried Elizabeth happily.

"The same concept, yes, although the ideas are very different. It fascinates me, this Protestantism. I'll have Susanna show some of the work to you."

"Does your husband know?"

"Heavens, no," Anne laughed. "You mustn't tell him. He's a Catholic, the whole royal family is. If I practice this new religion, it must be done in the utmost secret way. He can never know."

"What do you think of him?" Katherine demanded. "Tell us, darling, we will listen."

"He was very nice at first – he is never outright cruel to me. But he doesn't like me, and it shows. My accent is what annoys him most. Yours are all stronger than mine, so perhaps that will bring him around to accepting me. I doubt it. He has a mistress – Ruth Lyons – who is pregnant, though he doesn't know it yet."

"How do you know, if the Prince does not?" Anne gasped.

"Her sister, Maud Lyons, told me out of some sense of loyalty," Princess Anne told them, and then laughed as some stray thought entered her mind.

"Anne, we share a name now! Well, so as not to get confused, let us call you Annie." The others laughed, temporarily allowing the subject of Prince Henry to drop in their tiredness.

"What do you think of Prince Arthur and Princess Mary?" Martha asked. "We found them quite agreeable when we came here."

"Yes, I like them quite a lot," Anne agreed. "The King is so formidable, and Henry doesn't like me much. Lady Beaufort is good to me – and only me – but she frightens me. I am ever so glad I am not alone anymore."

"Alone!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Dearest Anna, you shall never be alone! We shall be there for you, through thick and thin, the five of us will always be together!"

"That is good to know, darling," Anne laughed, rejoicing in the break from her solitude. "I have faith that you will keep your word." Anne smiled, glad to know that finally, she was not alone in this strange new world.

**A/N: Not the longest or the best, but it will do. The main point was just to introduce Anne's friends and reunite them with her. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated! My computer's having some problems, but that's no excuse. I'll try to be better, I promise!**

_1 December 1511_

"The baby is due any day now," Lady Margaret Pole sighed. "I can't imagine how happy everyone will be if it is a boy."

"We'll be delighted," Elizabeth laughed happily and gaily. "There will be balls and dances and parties and celebrations all over the country, won't there? I can't wait myself – and I do love babies!"

"Yelizaveta, have you even seen a baby in your life?" Katherine asked, reverting back to the girl's Russian name. They all sat around Anne's bed. She had just gone into her official confinement, and would not grace the court with her presence again until two weeks after her baby was born.

"Prince Arthur will be happy," Martha laughed, unable to think of any way this could go wrong. "He'll finally get to marry his Spanish Infanta."

"Yes," Princess Anne giggled as well, and Annie who had been Anya joined her. "Perhaps Henry will see me more once we have a child," she said wistfully. "I can't imagine that he won't visit the nursery often, and I know I shall always be there."

"You don't need him," Katherine scoffed amusedly. "One day he and his father will be dead, and you'll be Queen Mother with your son as King of England, and you'll be as happy and powerful as the Lady Beaufort. Can't you wait for that?"

The girls laughed delightedly. Lady Pole's face looked distantly troubled, but she shook off the feeling that Katherine had just spoken treason.

Suddenly, Anne let out a sharp cry of pain, "Oh!"

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked, alarmed.

"I don't know!"

"It's the baby!" Lady Margaret Pole announced, hurrying to the Princess's side. "Hush now, you're alright," she told her comfortingly.

"He's early!" Elizabeth moaned as Martha took Anne's hand.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of you," Martha whispered. "Someone send for the Prince, and for Lady Beaufort!"

_Later_

What was taking so long?

Henry and his friends paced outside the doors to Anne's chambers, and her screams were eating away at all of them. Even Henry flinched at the sound. She'd been in labor for hours – shouldn't the baby be born by now?

"Sometimes it takes longer," Sir Richard Pole, Lady Margaret's husband, informed the Prince as though he had read the younger boy's mind.

It was all Henry could do not to glare at the man. He was going to say something sharp, but Charles interrupted.

"I suppose it feels longer than it is," he predicted. "How long has it been?"

"Four hours."

"Is that all?" William Compton complained. "We need something to distract us, but all the ladies are in there helping!"

"Not all the ladies," a voice said, and at the door stood Ruth.

"Ruth!" Henry sprinted over to her and dragged her out the door. "Now is not a good time," he scolded, clearly annoyed at the interruption. "My son is going to be born in a few minutes…"

"But I have news for Your Highness," she protested, looking innocent and hurt.

"What is it?" he snapped. She leaned in closer, clearly attempting to seduce him, or at least arouse his curiosity.

"I am with child," she whispered, her words breaking through the ringing silence of the hall.

"You're… what?" he asked, clearly dumbfounded.

"With child," she said, smiling.

Henry looked surprised and blinked rapidly. "Well… umm…" he said uncertainly. "Can we talk later?"

"I suppose," she sighed. "Oh, look, the doctor is coming out."

Dr. Linacre had indeed exited the birthing chamber, looking exhausted and sad.

"What is it?" Henry demanded.

"Your Highness, all is not going according to plan," the doctor admitted. "For now there is hope that all may be well, but in a short time Your Highness may have to chose between the life of the mother or that of the child."

Without another word, the doctor slipped back into Anne's rooms. He left a heavy silence behind him, and everyone stared at Henry.

They all knew what he would choose.

_A few minutes later_

"Did you hear that?" Ruth Lyons demanded.

"Hear what?" John Lyons asked cheerfully.

"Anne of Russia may die in childbirth," she laughed. "Think about it, John. If she dies, leaving no child or a daughter, he may want to marry _me. _I carry his son, and if he doesn't have one he'll want outs to be legitimate. And even if she dies and has a son, he'll want another one, won't he? So he'll marry me."

"Wishful thinking," Maud said. "You're not a princess. And I'm sure that the tsar will think his sister was neglected, and be angry, perhaps even start a war. You ought to watch your words, anyhow, Ruth. To wish death upon the Princess of Wales is treason."

"Oh, go away, Maud," Ruth sighed. "You're so depressing. Go back to your darling Princess Anne. I shan't forgive you when I marry the prince, you know."

"Maud is right," John scolded her. "Prince Henry won't marry you simply because you're with child. Even if he wanted to, the King would never let him. And even if he did, wishing death on Princess Anne is treason and even you can't find a way around that one."

Ruth scowled at her siblings. "Oh, you're no fun," she pouted.

"We'll talk about this later, _if_ Princess Anne dies," John said sternly, "Depending on the child."

_Meanwhile_

He couldn't bear it.

She wasn't bad, Henry was realizing. She looked adorable when she pouted, or was angry or indignant.

She was scared of Margaret Beaufort, and of the King, thought they both treated her with kindness.

She was fond of Arthur and of Mary.

She missed her family and her home, but she had traveled all this way to be his wife.

Her accent, though annoying, was fading enough that it was no longer incomprehensible, merely endearing.

Henry was starting to see the part of Anne that everyone else had seen for so long.

She was smart and witty, always keeping up with the banter between himself and his friends, despite her limited knowledge of their language. She cared about people, and the English were very fond of her. She could be charming when she wanted to, and even he could not keep his eyes off of her when she decided it was her night to shine.

She was jealous of his mistresses, and never disobeyed him yet.

He was a bad husband, he knew that, but she had not been a bad wife. He had nothing to complain about. She had something to complain about, but she never did.

If he had to, he would choose his child over his wife.

He knew this, and everyone knew this. It was the same choice his father would have made, the same choice his father and grandmother would urge him to make if his grandmother had the time to influence him or his father was here to tell his opinion. He could send a sincere not of apology to the tsar for the tragic loss of his sister, and raise her son to be King of England.

But if she survived this, Henry was determined to be better.

He would make it up to her.

_2 December 1511_

He was perfect.

Anne couldn't believe is little toes, and his hands that were so tiny and soft. He was asleep, and he was darling boy.

"He'll make a fine King one day," Henry said.

He was nice to her, now that their son was born, just as Anne had hoped.

"Yes," she agreed.

"We'll call him Edmund," Henry declared. Originally he'd wanted to name the child for himself, but he knew that was a bit of an egotistical move.

He saw the flash of surprise one Anne's face, but she didn't protest, only nodded. They could call another child Henry – for there would be other children.

Anne would live, thank heavens. Henry could breathe easier. He would have to tell her about Ruth, and her pregnancy, and then they would live happily. He didn't think Anne would protest to that. He would acknowledge Ruth's child, and keep her and other girls for mistresses.

He would promise Anne that they would be no threat to her and to their children, and he knew Anne would accept that.

She wouldn't have a choice, for one thing, but it seemed like something she would do after all he had done to her in the first year of the marriage.

"I would like Lady Pole to be in charge of him," Anne asked hopefully.

"Of course," Henry nodded. He liked Sir Richard Pole and Lady Margaret Pole very much – they were good people, and Lady Margaret had raised several good children already.

Anne nodded sleepily, her eyelids falling over her eyes, despite her attempts to remain awake.

"Go to sleep," he ordered, handing baby Edmund over to the midwife and kissing her forehead before he took his leave from the room.

**A/N: There's the baby! And don't worry, he'll survive. Henry's still going to have mistresses as well, but he and Anne are pretty well reconciled now. **


	8. Chapter 8

_4 December 1511_

"His Royal Highness, Prince Edmund of Wales!" the announcer boomed, and trumpets played as everyone cheered. All of Ludlow's court, as well as courtiers brought by visiting members of the royal family, clapped at seeing the new child baptized.

Soon Prince Edmund would officially be named Duke of Cornwall as heir to the Prince of Wales. His godparents included his aunt and uncle, King James V and Queen Margaret of Scotland, and he was now held by the Scottish ambassador to England.

"He's certainly handsome child," Mary Bowen whispered to Susanna Harvey as they followed the procession to the Princess's rooms. "All the more because of the look he puts of Ruth Lyons' face."

Susanna looked over to where the Lyons family was walking and could not help but laugh at the look on the eldest daughter's face.

"They say she's pregnant," Nan Saville whispered when she heard the topic of conversation, and Bridget Wingfield turned to the other girls with a smirk.

"She is," she confirmed, giggling. "I heard her telling the Prince of Wales, while the Princess of Wales was in labor. He was quite stunned – he didn't quite know what to do."

"He may not acknowledge it," Madge Shelton suggested, coming over with Margaret Wyatt. "Then the Lyons will have to raise it themselves, or place it with some peasant family to live and pretend it never happened."

"If he acknowledges it, likely he'll pay Ruth's dowry and then pay someone else to care for the child in some country manor," Nan Saville predicted.

"Or he could make _Ruth_ care for the child in some country manor," Mary added, and the girls burst into giggles at the thought of Ruth Lyons caring for a child day and night.

"Or he could have the child live in the nursery here, with Prince Edmund," Margaret Wyatt suggested in a hushed voice. The other girls sobered immediately. A silence rang out, and finally Susanna Harvey broke it.

"He wouldn't do that to Anne," she predicted, mostly trying to convince herself.

"He hasn't cared for Anne up until now," Margaret reminded her. "And he's certainly cared for Ruth. It may seem as thought that is changing, but I honestly doubt it."

"Hush," Mary Bowen warned. "Lady Pole's coming over here, and I don't want her to hear us gossiping. She'll scold terribly. Don't speak any more about this. We'll see what happens eventually, I suppose."

_Later_

"Your husband's mistress is _pregnant_?" Elizabeth gasped in horror. If such things happened in Russia, they were kept secret from the innocent ears of Tsarevna Anna and her young companions.

Anne supposed that this would be kept from Princess Mary and her companions as well.

"It does happen," Katherine sighed. "Oh, poor Anne. There's always the possibility that he won't acknowledge the child."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Anne told them. "Everyone who knows she's pregnant knows it's his, and it will do no good for him to deny it. They'll indulge him, of course, and pretend that the child is the bastard of some pageboy, but everyone will know it's his. It wouldn't do any good to deny it."

"I suppose not," Martha agreed, and Annie nodded beside her. "Still, it would make me upset if such a thing happened to me."

"Well, I was trained to bear it," Anne gritted her teeth. "I may not like it, but I shall have to. I'm just glad Henry's being nicer to me now. He and his friends visit every day, and yesterday they stayed for three hours."

"And _that's_ what you're so happy about?" Annie looked incredulous. "I don't believe that for a minute. I say we pull some brilliant pranks. Everyone knows all our tricks back home – but here we can get away with anything. I say we do the same thing to Ruth Lyons that we did to the Petrovna girl."

"No!" Anne, Katherine and Martha cried, though Elizabeth looked supportive.

"Why not?" Elizabeth asked.

"She may lose the child," Anne explained to her youngest lady-in-waiting. "As much as I dislike Ruth Lyons, no one can deny to innocence of that child. I don't wish harm on either of them any more than I could wish harm on my Edmund."

"Oh, Anne, you're such a killjoy," Annie laughed. "Well, I suppose we can always figure something out. I'm just glad that the awful Lady Beaufort is to leave soon."

"Not until the King and Prince and Princess leave," Anne explained, "and they haven't even arrived yet!"

"I imagine you'll be delighted to see them," Elizabeth guessed. "I know I am – I like Prince Arthur quite a bit. I hope Katherine of Aragon realizes how lucky she is. He may not be very healthy, but he's one of the few royals in the world who could be faithful to his wife. "

"He does seem the type for fidelity," Katherine agreed, "perhaps because he's so different from his brother."

"And we all know he's hardly old-faithful," Martha grumbled. "But yes, I'm sure Katherine of Aragon will be lovely, and Anne's best friend at court. We'll be replaced by a Spanish girl who thinks that sixty-five degrees is _cold."_

The others laughed.

"Speaking of cold, is there any frozen ponds around?" Anne asked.

"Frozen ponds?"

"Yes, so that we can skate on them like we used to. Being cooped up in here has made me have the urge to act like a child again. Once Lady Beaufort is gone and Lady Pole is busy with my son, there'll be no one to scold us or make us feel guilty of acting immature."

"No one but your husband," Martha warned.

"Oh, I hardly think he'll care," Anne scoffed. "He and his friends are always acting like children. They're far less mature than they think they are. We could invite them along, if it would make you feel better."

"Heavens, no!" Martha gasped in horror. "I don't want them to see me at my least dignified."

"Well, I say the more the merrier!" Elizabeth cried. "We can plan it for Anne's first day out of confinement… that will be… let me think… the 16th! We can invite your favorite English ladies, and a few others, too, just to make Ruth Lyons feel left out. I don't see why we can't invite the Prince and his friends, but I suppose if Martha would rather not then we shouldn't. Oh, I think this will be such fun!"

Even Martha could not resist Elizabeth's bright, bubbly face, and reluctantly agreed to let Elizabeth invite who she pleased to the outing.

"No Lyons, though," she ordered. "I suppose if I'm awfully bored I could just stay here."

_6 December 1511 _

"Clearly someone heard me telling the Prince, because all of Wales and half of London know already!" Ruth shrieked at her family.

"You ought to have been more careful!" Sir Richard Lyons scolded his eldest daughter, and Lady Lyons put her head in her hands. "We wanted you pregnant, and we want him to acknowledge the child. If he doesn't then we're no better off – we're worse off, for you'll be disgraced!"

"I'll get him to acknowledge it!" she defended herself, though they all knew she had no such power.

"You had better," her father snapped, gesturing to her brother, John, and three sisters, Maud, Sarah, and Ellen. "If you don't we shall be ruined. Maud will be taken out of the Princess's household, and John out of the King's. No one will want to marry you for you will be disgraced, and the family's disgrace will make no one want to marry you siblings for fear of association with us."

"It won't happen," Ruth decided, determined not to be the cause of her family's downfall. If they wanted to rise above this, she knew, all they had to do was disown her and leave her to fend for herself. It could not happen.

"The King comes tomorrow with the Duke of York and the Princess Mary," Sir Richard said. "I want the Prince of Wales to dine with his father tomorrow night and tell him that he has another child on the way, even if it is a bastard. Once he tells his father, there will be no way for him to get around acknowledging it – there will be witnesses, the king's servants."

"I'll manage it," Ruth promised. "I will."

_Meanwhile_

"When will that baby be born?" Catalina demanded.

"I do not know, Infanta," Maria de Salinas said once again.

"It _must_ be soon!" Catalina paced around her rooms. "And it_ must_ be a boy!"

"I am sure that it will be," her companion comforted her. "And if it is not, then another year is not too long to wait. It will simply be one more year that you can stay with your family and with your parents. I would not complain."

"I cannot help it!" she cried anxiously. "My brother Juan and sister Isabella are dead, but at least they were married and Juan's wife pregnant and Isabella had a son before their deaths, though the child was stillborn and the son died! My sisters Juana and Maria are married with children already, and though I dearly love my nieces and nephews, I desperately want to have my own!"

"Do not despair, Infanta," Maria comforted. "I am sure that the time is near."

"It is," said a voice in the doorway, and both turned to see Queen Isabella. They curtsied as she continued. "The Princess of Wales gave birth to a son less than a week ago. Prince Edmund is strong and healthy, and all of Europe rejoices. You will leave for England in March, and with any luck be married by April."

"Oh, Mother!" Catalina rejoiced. "I am so happy!"

"Remember that in England you are not Queen," Isabella warned her daughter. "Nor are you under any obligations from the King or Queen. I know you shall do well. It is God's will and my own."

"I will, Mother!" Catalina cried delightfully. "I will!"

_7 December 1511_

His father was coming today.

It would be tonight that they would dine together. Henry, Prince of Wales, would dine with his father the King, his brother Arthur, his sister Mary, and My Lady the King's Mother Margaret Beaufort.

They would discuss the Prince Edmund, Henry was sure. Lady Beaufort would rant and rave about how wonderful Anne was, and how wonderful it was that England's succession was secured through three generations already. King Henry would praise this detail and question his son about every aspect of his life. Arthur would sit in sympathetic silence, and Mary would babble on in excitement.

And Henry would have to bring up the matter of Ruth.

Lady Beaufort already knew, of course. It seemed that most of the people at Ludlow knew – how it had gotten out Henry was not sure, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Regardless, she had her spies and was likely well aware that her grandson was expecting his second child, his first illegitimate one.

She would expect him to bring up the matter of the King his father. She would expect that if he wanted to acknowledge the child, he make that plain. If he didn't bring up the matter immediately, she would assume that he had no intention of recognizing the child as his own.

It was his, he was sure, and he supposed he ought to acknowledge it.

He would dower Ruth heavily, and have the child sent away to be cared for in some manor in the country.

But he didn't want to tell his father, who might disapprove. He'd never had a mistress while King, and Henry VII might disapprove of the behavior in his son.

Not that Henry cared what his father thought.

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Remember to review! I promise that I'll try to update faster, but I'd like to add at least one more chapter to my story ****Heiress ****before I add another one to this. I'll do my best, I promise!**


	9. Chapter 9

_8 December 1511_

King Henry sat with his head in his hands.

"I suppose this is normal," his mother told him. "Really, I don't see what you're so upset about. This proves that the Tudor line is fertile and the succession is secure! This is a good thing, Henry! This is what we want!"

"I don't want half a dozen bastards taking up royal funds," Henry snapped. "I've come to this throne through reason and planning – I never wasted my time on mistresses and bastards – now the girl will have to be dowered, and the child cared for."

"Yes, it will," Lady Margaret Beaufort agreed. "But Henry, we're not talking about half a dozen bastards! We're talking about one – a single child. If the child is a girl, we'll raise her until she's old enough to marry, and then dower her enough to catch some earl as a husband. Then she'll be off our hands. And if he's a boy, we'll raise him to be a benefit to use – an admiral, or a general, one of the most skilled in battle. You must be reasonable with this!"

"I am being reasonable," the King looked up at his mother. "I just didn't expect this."

"Well, you weren't thinking, then," Lady Beaufort scoffed. "He's young – of course he's going to take a mistress, especially with the Princess pregnant. And we must remember that he seems to be getting along with her quite well these days. There's something to be happy about."

"Yes," the King agreed, "there is that."

"And those Russian girls seem to be doing the Princess some good," she continued. "You should hear them rattle on… and compared to them, her English hardly seems as mediocre. And she's clearly made the right choice of governess for her son."

"Yes," the King did not deny that point. "There would be no one more qualified for that position than Lady Margaret Pole."

"These are hardly bad circumstances," Lady Beaufort was pleased with how easily she had distracted her son from the issue. "One bastard child could be considered a good thing. It's when he has four or five that we start to have problems. But I don't anticipate more than a few."

"Very well," the king conceded. "He's obviously going to acknowledge the child," he admitted. "We'll then be obligated to provide for it. But I should make it clear to him that he should not repeat the offense. I won't have it."

"Of course not," Lady Beaufort agreed wholeheartedly. "I'll make that abundantly clear. I do wish he hadn't mentioned it in front of his sister Mary, however. Now she's terribly curious."

_Meanwhile_

"Hello, Anne," Arthur greeted with a smile.

"Arthur!" Anne sat up, grinning at her brother-in-law. "I'm so glad to see you. It seems like it's been a long time, doesn't it?"

"A lot has changed," Arthur agreed, desperately trying to stop himself from bringing up to Anne her coming stepchild. It seemed to be the most popular topic of conversation in Wales. "Congratulations on Prince Edmund. I was happy to hear it."

"Yes, you can marry now," Anne agreed. "I hope Catalina of Aragon has heard the news. What about you, Mary? Are you happy to have a nephew?"

"Oh, yes," Princess Mary, who had joined her brother, grinned excitedly. "I'll play with him lots when you and Henry visit London!"

"Oh, good," Anne laughed affectionately. "I'm holding you to that."

Princess Mary laughed, skipping off to the other side of the room to talk to Anne's ladies. Arthur turned once again to Anne. "Is Edmund going to stay here, then?"

"Oh, I hope so," Anne sighed. "It's Henry's decision, really, but I can't imagine he'd want to send our son away. He's to be made Duke of Cornwall soon, isn't he?"

"As soon as possible," Arthur agreed. "I've seen him, Anne – he's a handsome child. He'll be a good King for England one day, as well."

"Yes, he will," Anne agreed confidently. "I've yet to receive any word from my family on the subject – they have been informed, haven't they?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur admitted. "I would expect all the royal families to know by now. It is relatively important news. But I can double check that for you, if you'd like."

"I'd love that if you would," Anne smiled sweetly. "Your family has all been so kind to me – especially you and Princess Mary and Lady Beaufort – but I do miss my own parents and brothers sometimes. But I am glad that my friends were sent to me."

"I am, too," Arthur winked conspiratorially at her. "I think Catalina's bringing a whole host of Spanish girls, too. You've made fast friends with the English ladies, so I'm sure you'll make friends with the Spanish ones, too."

"Will they be coming to Ludlow?" Anne asked.

"I'm trying to convince my father to let Catalina and I come to Wales once she's here," Arthur admitted. "I just planted the idea in his head – I'd really like to be here, and maybe I can help Henry and his friends. If he allows it, would you help Catalina? I've been thinking about how scary coming to a new country alone must be, and I think she might need some help."

"I'd be happy to," Anne agreed. "When will she be coming?"

"April or June," Arthur grinned. "Only a few more months left to wait. I do hope she likes me."

"Of course she'll like you," Anne laughed delightedly. "How could she not? All of my ladies adore you."

"Well," Arthur leaned back, surprised at the praise. "Thank you, I suppose. That's rather flattering."

Anne laughed. "Henry and I would love to have you at Ludlow," she added. "Oh, now you're getting my hopes up, Arthur!"

"You'll be in London for the wedding," Arthur reminded her. "Maybe you could try to convince my father to let us come. Or convince Lady Beaufort – she's got more influence on him than anyone, and she loves you."

"Everyone says that," Anne complained. "It makes me feel strange – almost like it's a bad thing. But I'll try."

_12 December 1511_

"I simply have to take Maria de Salinas," Catalina declared. Queen Isabella nodded, and continued down the list.

"So many nobles want their daughters to travel to England with you," she smiled. "Is there anyone else is particular you want to reward with the honor."

"Juana al Desna, Moira Callas, Dona Esperanza, and Dona Catalina," the infanta continued, naming her favorite ladies. "And…" started to continue, before her father's entrance interrupted her.

"Slow down_,_ sweetheart," he laughed. "You must allow your mother and I to choose some of the honored. Many of the girls on this list have fathers who have been very useful to us. And you cannot take only Castilian girls – you must take Aragonese girls as well."

"Yes, Father," Catalina conceded. "As long as I don't have to take that awful Belinda – I swear she tried to poison me."

"And why would she do that?" King Ferdinand teased his daughter. "You know, her father has been of the utmost use to me…" he mocked.

"Papa!" Catalina cried indignantly as her parents laughed. "You mustn't joke like that," she scolded. "I've only five girls picked out, and I can't go with less than twenty. I imagine that Tsarevna Anna took at least fifty ladies with her."

"I doubt that," Ferdinand said. "Nonetheless, I think twenty is an appropriate number. But you must remember that you have a few months for this to be done. You could make the offer to some of the girls a day before your departure, and they would still travel with you."

"That's true," Catalina agreed. "I think I'll leave the rest up to you. Thank you, Mama, Papa!" Catalina declared, before hurrying over to Maria de Salinas in delight.

_13 December 1511_

_My dearest Anna,_

_ Congratulations on the birth of your son! In Russia we celebrated the birth and congratulate you on your success. Your brother Ivan's wife, Anastasia Romanov, has also just given birth, though her child was a daughter. _

_ Upon hearing of your child's birth, Ivan declared that he would name his daughter for you, his beloved sister, and we once again have a Tsarevna Anna Boleynia. We are all incredibly proud of her, for she is a pretty little child. _

_ Your brothers send their love and hope that your companions reached you in time for the birth of Prince Edmund. You know that our dearest wishes include your happiness, and we treasure the letters your see fit to write to us. Please, darling, write more often. I was immensely sad to hear of the birth of Prince Edmund in an official notice from the King of England rather than from your own hand. Your brothers send their love, and we all send our good wishes. _

_ I would write more, but I'm afraid I haven't time. Ivan has put me in charge of the little Tsarevna. Good-bye, my dear, and we miss you, _

_ Mother_

"Oh, I miss her too!" Anne wept. "And I'll never meet my little niece! How sad is that!"

"Don't cry, darling," Lady Pole comforted her. "I'm sure you'll hear from all of your family again. You have your friends with you, don't you? Hush now."

"I'm terribly sorry," Anne sobered up. "Lady Pole, will you send my ladies away?"

Sensing what was to come, the older woman rushed the giggling girls from their mistress' chamber.

As soon as the two were alone, Anne broke down in tears.

Lady Pole locked the doors, ensuring the Princess' cry would not be interrupted. "Poor dear," she comforted, stroking her hair. "You're young… only seventeen, and a girl does need her mother at that age. Oh, poor darling, let it out."

To stifle her cries, Anne pressed a pillow to her face and allowed herself to be comforted by Lady Margaret Pole, who was stroking her hair.

"Scream into the pillow," the older woman advised. "Let all that frustration out. It's been building up since you got to England, hasn't it?" Anne let out a scream, stifled by the pillow.

"There you go," Lady Pole smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Much better," Anne admitted. "Thank you," she sighed. "I used to have quite a temper, you know. I was famous for it, in Russia. I've been trying so hard to not let it control me that I think I've done just the opposite. But there, I've had my cry. You can let the ladies back in now."

"Just a minute," Lady Pole smiled. She grabbed a washcloth and wet it before dabbing it to Anne's cheek. "There… now it's not so obvious. We'll wait a moment, for the red to leave your eyes, and then let them back in. Besides, the quiet in here with them gone really is quite nice."

"I suppose it is," Anne agreed after a moment of thinking about it. "You efforts are appreciated, Lady Pole. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, darling," she replied, heading toward the door. "Now, but a smile on that face… think of that little boy of yours in the nursery. Good, now I'll let the back in."

The girls that were let back in seemed utterly oblivious to what had just occurred, and they picked their needlework up and continued to gossip closely.

Anne glanced around, relaxing when she realized that no one would tell Henry or the King or Lady Beaufort her behavior. She was thankful… she thought that perhaps she had deserved her good cry.

**A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to get up! I've got midyear exams right now, so I'm wicked stressed, but I'll try to get another chapter up soon. Thanks for the patience and reviews!**


	10. Chapter 10

_Time Jump, 19 April 1512_

Catalina's heart beat furiously.

Her whole life, she had been waiting for this moment – the moment in which she would meet her husband. In her mind, he was handsome, smart, charming, loyal, strong, and kind. He was everything that a prince could be, even if he was not meant to be king.

He was Arthur, Duke of York, and she was finally going to meet him.

Of course, they would hardly be alone. His father, King Henry VII, would be there as well, with his mother Lady Margaret Beaufort. And the three people who stood between Catalina and Arthur and the throne would be there as well - Henry, Prince of Wales, Anne, Princess of Wales, and Prince Edmund of Wales, Duke of Cornwall.

At one time, Catalina had felt horribly bitter at the thought that she would not be Queen of England.

She knew that for the Great Alliance, Anne of Russia had to marry Henry, Prince of Wales, and that she had to marry Arthur, Duke of York, though she did not quite understand why. When she had first heard of this, she had stomped her foot and screeched and yelled and begged her parents to change it, but for once they had not given in.

Now, she was just happy to be marrying at all. It was high time she was married, after all, and she wanted children very much.

"Her Royal Highness, Catalina, Infanta of Spain!" a voice cried, and Catalina stepped forward to meet her new family.

She paused and stopped to observe them.

A formidable-looking old woman glared down at Catalina. She could only be Lady Margaret Beaufort. She was the first person Catalina's eye landed on, though she was standing off to the side of the royal family. Catalina knew she yielded precedence to her son, King Henry VII, and his sons and daughters, and their spouses and children. As of yet, Catalina herself had to yield precedence to the old lady – but not for long.

King Henry himself looked stern. He was not one with whom one could joke, or tease, but one with whom one must be at the utmost serious. Catalina knew this instinctually. She curtsied deeply to him, and muttered, "Your Majesty."

"Infanta," he greeted in return, bowing shallowly and offering her his arm. She accepted and he turned around to introduce her to his family.

"This is your brother-in-law, Prince Henry," he told her, "Along with his wife, Anne of Russia, and their son, Prince Edmund of Wales." Catalina curtsied to the little family, and noted happily that Anne of Russia greeted her with a smile that was genuine, not forced.

"This is my mother," the King declared, introducing her to the old lady, "Lady Margaret Beaufort." Again, Catalina curtsied, before turning to the little girl at Lady Beaufort's side. "This child is my daughter, your sister-in-law, Princess Mary." Catalina curtsied to the princess who curtsied back in return.

"And this," the King continued, "is your husband-to-be, my son, Prince Arthur, Duke of York." The King withdrew, standing beside the rest of his family as his son came forward.

Catalina curtsied, and the prince bowed in return, taking her hand in his own and kissing it. "I hope we shall be very happy together, Princess."

"Henceforth," the King interrupted. "You shall be known as Katherine of Aragon, and as Duchess of York shall be second lady in this kingdom only to the Princess of Wales and any daughters she may bear, and to any wife I should chose to have."

At this declaration, Catalina saw Prince Henry, Prince Arthur, and Princess Mary all wince a little. Catalina understood. Her mother's death only a month before her departure from Spain had been heartbreaking, topped only by her father's instant remarriage to Germaine of Foix. Stepmothers were not real mothers, and she hoped these English royals would never had to know that.

_Later, Same Day_

"I say we were luckier with Anne," Lady Beaufort told her son. "The Russian girl was clearly raised better than the Spanish one. There's something… _insolent _about that Katherine."

"Yes, I'm sure there is," Henry nodded absent-mindedly.

"And all those foreigners!" Lady Beaufort continued. "Anne didn't bring _anyone_ with her when she came, and only sent for _four_ of her ladies once she was _with child_. This Spanish brat arrives here with twenty ladies and wants to know how many more she shall receive! I do think she means to bankrupt us."

"Her dowry is good," Henry reminded his mother.

"Yes," Lady Beaufort conceded. "Her dowry is good. But does she honestly expect us to provide her with a household of fifty ladies as we do for Anne? Not to mention she demands twice the salary for each of them!"

"She can't have the same size household as Anne," Henry scolded his mother. "Everything is about appearances, and we must make it clear that Katherine is below Anne. She can have forty, at the same salary as Anne's."

Lady Beaufort nodded.

"And were you serious?" the lady added. "You mentioned the possibility of a wife. Were you serious?"

Henry did not answer right away, which prompted his mother to poke him. "Well?"

"Ferdinand of Aragon has remarried already," Henry reminded her. "A country needs a Queen. You are doing wonderfully, Mother, but it's just not possible for a country to go so long without a Queen."

"Then remarry," Lady Beaufort insisted. "I'll find some candidates."

_Even later_

"I'm so glad your father agreed to let Arthur and Katherine come live at Ludlow with us," Anne rambled to her husband that night.

"Are you?" he replied noncommittally. Ever since Edmund's birth, Anne had been quite a favorite of his, though he flattered himself that the reason ran deeper than the birth of their son.

"Yes," Anne confessed. "I think Katherine and I could be great friends, don't you? She'd be someone to be my friend, but my equal as well…" Anne trailed off, startled at the glower suddenly present on her husband's face.

"Arthur's wife is Duchess of York," Henry reminded her sternly. "My wife is the Princess of Wales, one day the Queen of England. She is_ not_ your equal."

"Near-equal, then," Anne corrected herself. "She's closer to being my equal that anyone else in England… at least she's not my lady-in-waiting."

"I suppose having them won't be bad," Henry said just to agree with her. It was true that he was all but King at Ludlow, and having complete authority over Arthur, who had always been a bit of a rival to him, would be satisfying.

"I think we're all going to be very happy, now," Anne breathed a little sigh as she laid her head down and closed her eyes for sleep.

_22 April 1512_

"Shh," Henry, Prince of Wales, snapped at his brother as they tried to listen. "I can't hear!"

"I can't either," Arthur snapped back. "I want to know just as much as you do!"

"Want to know what?" a voice asked behind them. "And why are you listening at your grandmother's bedroom door?"

"Mary!" the two boys hushed her.

"We heard a rumor that Father was going to marry Margaret of Austria," Arthur explained. "Margaret's thirty-two, and was widowed twice. The first time she was married to Katherine's brother."

"Is he?" Mary asked anxiously.

"I hope not," Henry snapped. "I don't want any stepmother. But anyway, if he is, Grandmother would know, and she'd be talking about it. Now hush, Mary, I want to hear."

"No!" their sister pushed them over. "Let_ me_ listen!"

"Move over, Arthur!"

"Henry, get off!"

"I can't _hear_!"

"Stop it, Henry, or I'll tell your _wife_!"

"I'll tell yours!"

The three were so busy bickering that they forgot to listen at the door. Therefore, it was no surprise that no one heard the tapping of high-heeled shoes as Lady Beaufort, who heard hushed voices outside her door, walked over to it and opened it.

"What is going on out here?"

_Later_

"What were you doing?" the King demanded of his children. It was times like this that made him wonder if they were really as grown-up as he thought them to be. At this moment e wished that Margaret, obviously the most mature of his children, had not left.

"Absolutely childish," Lady Beaufort insisted. "Squabbling like idiots trying to listen at my doorway instead of just asking what they wanted to know."

"Will you answer us, then?" Mary begged. "You're not going to get married again, are you Father?"

"No," the King sighed dramatically. "It was an idea, but I've already got more than enough heirs and my mother can take care of anything that a Queen would need to do. Now you can all stop worrying."

The three children let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

"Was it really that pressing of a matter?" King Henry asked. At the shrugs and nods of his children, the King leaned back his head and laughed at the mental image of his three children squabbling at the door to his mother's suites.

_26 April 1512_

"This damn baby had better be a boy," Ruth Lyons growled.

She had no reason to be in a bad mood. She had this lovely manor all to herself and her servants. It was a picturesque place where many women would be happy to live and have free reign over. But there was one problem – it was not a castle, and it was not in the country.

The only thing that got Ruth through all of this isolation was the thought that when Prince Henry became King, he would surely honor all of his sons, legitimate or not.

And she, as a mother of one such son, would be sure to reap the benefits of royal favor. Perhaps, if she gave Henry a boy, he would call her back to Ludlow – and later, when he was King, to London – to be his official mistress.

She'd picked out names – Richard, John, Peter, Henry – but only for sons. Her sister Maud had attempted to get her to pick out girl names a few days ago, and Ruth was proud to say she had defended her baby to the best of her ability.

Maud thought that she might name the child Ruth, for herself if it was a girl, and Ruth had flown into an awful temper, insisting that it was a boy.

It had to be a boy. A daughter – and illegitimate daughter, nonetheless – would do no good to anyone. It would not raise the status of the Lyons family, or earn honors from the royal father that the child would certainly be able to claim. If the child was a girl, she would be raised here, in this miserable, beautiful manor, and given a dowry and married off to some rich gentleman or noble when she was old enough.

Ruth herself would gain a dowry and a bastard.

That would be all that they had.

If this baby wasn't a boy, Ruth knew, then she had ruined her family.

**A/N: Tell me what you think! This was a bit rushed, I don't have much time because of my exams, so definitely not my best work. But let me know anyway, I love reviews!**


	11. Chapter 11

_Time Jump, 3 September 1512_

It was uncharacteristically warm as the Princesses walked arm-in-arm through the garden.

Tsarevna Anne of Russia, Princess of Wales and England, bit her lip anxiously.

"Oh, don't do that," her sister-in-law, Infanta Katherine of Aragon and Castile, Duchess of York and Princess of England, scolded. "You've got no reason to be nervous."

"But what if it's a girl?" Anne whispered, glancing around the make sure no one overheard. "I never even thought about it when I was pregnant with Edmund, but what if the child is a girl?"

"If it is a girl, then she'll be good for diplomatic alliances," Katherine reassured her friend. "And Henry won't be mad – you've got Edmund. You've given him the _heir_. You don't _need_ the spare, it's just a precaution. Clearly Henry VII didn't need his."

"Your parents could have used one," Anne grumbled ungraciously. "It seems all the royal houses that could use a spare don't have one, and those that have one don't need him."

"That's one way of looking at it," Katherine nodded. "But don't think that having another son will save your Edmund if God wills him away before his time to be King. It shan't."

Anne sighed. Katherine was unfailingly Catholic, always. She had no idea that Anne and all of her closest ladies-in-waiting were secret heretics. She wouldn't have approved if she did know; Anne couldn't think of anyone who would approve.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded. "Still, I would like it very much if I have another son. Though I would love a daughter just as much."

"Good," Katherine nodded. "When is the child due? And what got you thinking about Henry being angry if you had a son? He clearly adores you."

"Don't you know?" Anne looked startled. "He didn't adore me at first. He rather despised me, actually. It wasn't until Edmund was born that he began to like me… and even then I couldn't be sure. Even now, I'm not quite sure, but I am starting to trust him."

"He couldn't have possibly hated you," Katherine shook her head. This was new information.

"He'll deny it now," Anne laughed. "But oh, he hated my accent. That's why I was so quick to lose it. Then once Edmund was born, everything changed – his mistress left, too, so I suppose that helped. She was with child. That's why I'm nervous that I'll have a girl."

"What?"

"Yes, she had a daughter three weeks ago."

"A daughter?" Katherine was aghast. Her father had bastard children as well – she knew that he did. But that didn't make it right, and her opinion of the Prince of Wales plummeted at the revelation.

"Yes, and Henry was furious," Anne sighed. "He didn't tell me outright that he would have preferred a son off of her, but he implied it – and it explained his bad mood. But he's still generous with her – he gave her the titles Lady of Wales for the time he is Prince of Wales, and she'll become Lady of England when he is King."

"What is her given name?" Katherine inquired. "And is she called Tudor?"

"Not Tudor," Anne confirmed. "At least she's not that. The King came up with the last name – Fitzroy. It means "son of Kings," and Henry is to use it for bastard children. So while my son is Prince Edmund Tudor of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, Ruth Lyon's daughter is Lady Ursula Fitzroy of Wales. Not bad, for a bastard."

Katherine had only known Anne for a few months, but it wasn't hard to pick up on the bitterness of her tone.

"She's coming back to court, isn't she?" Katherine could hear the pity in her own voice.

Anne's nod was unnecessary, but that didn't stop Katherine's shock at her next outburst. "She's going to be his_ maitresse en titre_!"

"Oh, God!" Katherine felt herself freeze for a moment. The title of _maitresse en titre_ was too French for the Spanish court that she had grown up in, but that didn't mean that she didn't understand its meaning. "And his father approved of this?"

"He hasn't said a word against it," Anne's eyes filled with unshed tears. "Now has the Lady Beaufort. Naturally the Princess Mary doesn't know – but I imagine Prince Arthur does."

"When does she arrive?"

"She'll be here next week in all her glory," this time, Anne could hear the bitterness in her own voice. "I intend to announce my pregnancy at the same time… perhaps that will take off some of the attention from her arrival."

"I imagine it will." Katherine hardly approved of this – Anne ought to allow the attention and turn a blind eye to it. But she could hardly say such a thing – it wasn't her husband who was taking a _maitresse en titre_.

"Oh, listen to me!" Anne moaned softly. "I sound jealous. I'm not, I swear!" Her proclamation was disregarded by Katherine. Clearly, Anne _was_ jealous.

"Well, clearly Prince Henry accepts his daughter, Lady Ursula," she returned to the original topic of conversation. "I see no reason why he wouldn't accept a daughter from you – especially when such a daughter would be a Princess – and therefore a far more useful political tool."

Anne grimaced at her sister-in-law. "I suppose so," she agreed. "Still, I hope that I have another boy."

_Traveling_

"Lady Ursula Fitzroy," Ruth Lyons muttered. "Ursula Fitzroy, Lady of Wales. John, why on earth was she named Ursula?"

"After our aunt," her brother reminded her. "The Prince of Wales decided not to name her after Mother, for one reason or another."

"Ah, yes," Ruth nodded. "Oh, John, can you believe this? I thought it was all over when I had a girl – I thought for sure it was over. But then I find that I'm to return to Ludlow and become the Prince of Wales' _official mistress_. I believe there's some French term for the title."

"He'll have a son off of you yet," John Lyons agreed. "And the Princess of Wales is with child again, so he won't be spending his nights with her."

"Have you met the Duchess of York?" Ruth asked curiously. "Is she anything like the Princess of Wales?"

"She spends all her time praying," he told her. "A devout Catholic, of course, but no one would expect otherwise if they knew who her parents were."

"Those Spanish people, aren't they?"

"Yes, that's them," her brother rolled his eyes when Ruth called them _'those Spanish people._' "Her parents are Queen Isabella of Castile and King Ferdinand of Aragon. She's a princess three times over."

"Yes, interesting," Ruth muttered absentmindedly. "I'm sure she's perfectly _fascinating._ I am sorry that I missed the wedding, though. I imagine it must have been absolutely grand."

"It was a rather well-done celebration," John admitted reluctantly. "But don't worry about it – _your _arrival will surely sweep all of her attention away."

"Well I should _hope_ so," Ruth scoffed. "I'm a pure English rose… I certainly won't have a problem outdoing some hyped-up Spanish Moor."

_18 September 1512_

Princess Mary had been so glad when she heard that she was going to Ludlow.

It was to be a surprise visit, Grandmother had told her. It was just the two of them and their households. Mary missed having her brothers around, and she was fond of both of her sisters-in-law. Her nephew, too, could light up her face with a smile.

But now, shut up inside this solemn room, Ludlow didn't seem so wonderful anymore.

Henry stood behind the chair Anne was sitting in, next to Mary's. She was pregnant again, and Edmund was in her arms. She cooed at him and rocked him, but Mary could see the nerves in her eyes. Katherine sat on Mary's other side, and the English princess grabbed Anne's free hand in her own and Katherine's hand in her other. Arthur had one hand on Katherine's chair and the other one on his sister's.

Lady Margaret Beaufort finally arrived. The old woman looked sad for once in her life. Her eyes filled with unshed tears and her hands shook.

"The King is dead. My son is dead."

The words hung dangerously in the air and only Edmund continued to make a sound.

Then, Lady Beaufort did something Mary never thought she'd see. "The announcement comes out tomorrow," she declared, walking up to Henry. She took her grandson's hands in her own, kissed them to her lips, and knelt. "What are your orders, Your Majesty?"

_23 September 1512_

The night in the Tower had been long, and Henry was grateful that he had insisted Anne be crowned with him.

At least, in that haunted Tower, they had each other.

Her pregnancy had been announced before his father had died, but she was not yet showing. The child was not due until July.

Anne's ladies slept with her in one suite; he could hear them giggling late into the night. He slept with his guards in another, and suddenly the nerves had gotten to him.

He was King of England.

He had only ever known one King of England before, and that was his father. He couldn't imagine anyone else commanding the country, though his whole life he had looked forward to the day he would become King.

His son was the Prince of Wales now. His brother, lucky Arthur, was still the Duke of York. He didn't have the weight of the country on his shoulders.

But today those nerves were gone. Anne looked stunning, in a creamy white gown that rivaled her wedding gown in beauty. Her hair was done up with flowers in it, and she looked regal and gracious, every inch a Queen. He could only imagine how beautiful everyone would see her; he wondered if he could stand up next to her and look like he belonged.

The procession was long and unnecessary, but it was good to see the people cheering them. He could have sworn he heard Anne's Russian friend Martha whisper to her other friend Katherine, "They look as though they were meant for this."

Elizabeth, the girl she had chosen to stand closest to her, looked so delighted that Henry could not help but glance at her naïve, blithe face every few moments. Anne herself could not keep her eyes from her friend.

It was Annie whose eyes brimmed over with tears; the smiling faces of all of Anne's favorite ladies and his favorite gentlemen gave Henry confidence.

He had so much confidence, in fact, that before the bishop could place the crown on Anne's head as he had with Henry, the King stood up and said, "Halt."

Then he walked over and took the crown from the bishop's hands.

"I today do crown you Anne, Queen of England," he announced and the crowd went wild as she smiled up at him.

He knew that in the future, some would call it a romantic gesture; it was, in some part. It was a power play, in others, that Henry took the bishop's role in placing the crown on the Queen's head.

He didn't know what it was to Anne, but to Henry it was an apology. _I'm sorry,_ the gesture said. _You are my wife, and I should have accepted you. I know that now, and I will be better to you._ He just hoped that Anne understood the words that he was too proud to say and accepted them.

"Ruth Lyons, the King's Mistress," she muttered to herself. Then she paused and glanced at her daughter, another secretive smile appearing on her face, "Lady Ursula Fitzroy of England, the King's Daughter."

She found the titles amusing.

Ursula would marry a duke or an earl, or at least a viscount, some day. It had been the idea of the new Queen Anne to raise her with her brother Edmund – a gesture that had surprised Ruth.

"She said that no child should be raised without a father, and as Ursula's father is King now, he'll have more time for his children if they are _all_ together," Maud had told the family. "She volunteered to have Ursula and any other bastards in the royal nursery. It's at court for now, but there is talk of it moving to Hatfield House soon."

"And the King agreed?" Sir Richard asked.

"Yes, he thought it was a splendid idea, and said that the Queen was a darling to think of it."

"Well, then, I suppose _that_'s settled," Ruth laughed. "It's a good thing, too. Being the King's mistress is a full-time job – some ambassadors and the like are interested in being introduced to me. I wouldn't have nearly enough time to look after her."

"It's a power play," the newly-knighted Sir John Lyons insisted. "Queen Anne is trying to gain control over any bastards. If she makes sure that they are loyal to her and to her children, she could prevent any potential rivalries."

"It hardly matters," Ruth blew him off. "Don't be such a kill-joy, John. I'm delighted with the arrangement, personally, and I think it's convenient."

"I agree with you," Sir Richard told his daughter. "Send the Lady Ursula to the court nursery. She'll see the most of her father that way – and all affection from him to her must be encouraged."

"Yes," Ruth agreed. "If it isn't, then I may lose this wonderful position I've gotten. Maitresse-en-titre, indeed!"

**A/N: So, Henry's King now, and Anne's got a kid on the way. No promises that it will be Elizabeth… she will be coming, but I think I might wait until a little later for her. Review!**


	12. Chapter 12

_29 September 1512_

Anne simply loved London.

Since her coronation, some spark had entered her life that was not there before. The court was kept at Whitehall Palace, a place that Anne was quickly finding to be the perfect home. She did spend time thinking joyfully of her happy days at Ludlow, but she looked optimistically at the future.

For a Queen, she spent more time than was necessary in the nursery with her son, but she could not help it. Once she was there, she never wanted to leave; when she left, all she wanted to do was go back.

She and Henry dined with a merry and youthful court every night – their friends and members of their households were always laughing and joking and courting. She could not have been happier.

"That baby," Henry said to her, lying alone in her chambers one night. "A girl or a boy, do you think?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Some ladies say that I should have a feel for that sort of thing, but I don't think I do."

"Have you any names you would like to use?"

"I thought perhaps William for a boy," she smiled softly. "It is a common name here – I hear it almost as much as John. But that's too common, and I've heard it's unlucky in the royal family."

"John is a terribly unlucky name," Henry agreed. "Prince William of England… William, Duke of Lancaster… it fits, I suppose. And have you thought of anything for a girl?"

"Not Anne," she insisted. "I would never want to name my own child after myself… but perhaps Mary, for your sister? Or Katherine, for your sister-in-law?"

"Either would be fine," Henry agreed. "As would Elizabeth, for my mother, or Margaret, for my other sister."

"Princess Mary… Princess Katherine… Princess Elizabeth… Princess Margaret…" Anne's voice trailed off as she tested each name.

"We could have one of each," Henry imagined, pulling her close and his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Let's see… we've got our Edmund, and let's say that Prince William is next? And we've got our four girls named… who else, for the boys?"

"Henry, of course," Anne smiled. "For you and your father… and Arthur, perhaps, for your brother."

"Let Arthur name his own son after himself," Henry teased. "What about Charles?"

"Charles is good," Anne agreed. "And Anthony. I wouldn't want to leave out any of your friends."

"Nor I yours," he smiled. "So we should add Martha to our list… Are you sure you won't name any of our girls Anne?"

"Never," she smiled. "I would use Susannah, or Bridget, perhaps. But I won't name my daughter Anne."

"It seems we have a large family, nonetheless," Henry smiled down at his wife. He could feel himself falling more in love with her by the second. "Our girls will be the first picked as brides for foreign princes… and every foreign princess will strive to marry one of our sons."

"I like that idea," Anne sighed contentedly. "I don't think life could get any better if it tried," she muttered, a peaceful look glazing over her face as she fell asleep.

_1 October 1512_

"Anne, really," Susannah giggled, "you've got to be more _careful_ about this."

"Or what?" Anne scoffed. "Katherine will find out? I'd almost rather she does, and brings it to Henry. If he had to choose between listening to Katherine, _Arthur's_ wife, over his own, we all know he would choose me, if only for his own pride."

"You don't want to go advertising that you're a heretic," Mary Bowen agreed. "At least not yet. If the King himself decides that the religion is worth looking in to, then you should encourage him as much as you can. But blatantly declaring yourself a Protestant is nothing short of stupid."

Bridget Wingfield laughed. "Oh, Mary, you're so cautious," she teased. "I say that the Queen is right. No one is going to stop _her_ from doing as she pleases. She's the Queen of England – she's above the law."

"That is true," Nan Saville admitted grudgingly, "But the King is above even her, and if he were to disapprove of this then she would be in a very dangerous situation."

"I've already decided something," Anne whispered, and her ladies-in-waiting leaned in close at her tone. "Lady Margaret Pole is taking care of my Edmund, as he's only a child. That will be her job – taking care of the babies. But for the governesses that will have the real influence, and for tutors, I think I'm going to pick people I know are Protestants."

"Anne!" Madge Shelton gasped. "That's practically announcing yourself to be a heretic."

"It's also ensuring that the future King of England has Protestant sympathies," Anne hissed. "I'm thinking of the good of this country. I doubt Catholicism will ever be banned in England, but no one should say a word against tolerance."

The ladies exchanged glances. "She's right," Katherine, her dearest friend from Russia, admitted.

"Governesses do have influence over royal children that most people underestimate," Martha agreed. "Raising Edmund and any other children by using Lutheran governesses is probably the safest way to ensure that England's heirs are Protestant, or at least have Protestant sympathies."

"Thank you, Martha," Anne exclaimed, glad that someone saw the genius of her plan. "I've told Lady Pole already that I want her with me in my confinement and then with the younger of the children, and she has agreed. I'm not quite sure who I'll make permanent governess yet, but I'm looking through applications."

"I can recommend someone," Mary Bowen spoke up. "Lady Margaret Bryan nee Bourchier, my mother's half-sister. She's not openly Lutheran, but she has a disdain for the Catholic faith and the corruptness of the clergy. I think if you hinted that you wanted her to raise your children as Lutherans secretly, she would do it."

"Have her come for an interview," Anne suggested. "I need someone to head the household who can do that. Thank you, Mary," she added, knowing Mary thought she should be more cautious.

"You don't think the King will make inquiries about the children's religious education?" Annie asked.

"He will," Anne admitted. "I'll tell him I've found a good, pious woman of rank and virtue to oversee that aspect of their education. I'm sure he'll have no objection to that."

"He knows Lady Bryan already, I should think," Nan Saville added. "Almost everyone does, but only a few know what she thinks of the clergy. She's very good at hiding that particular opinion."

"I'm glad to hear that," Anne nodded. "Elizabeth, would you draft a letter to Lady Bryan for me? Just request a visit, don't go into any details. Mary, I'd like for you to mention what the interview is about, should she ask."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Mary agreed. "I'd be happy to."

"Good," Anne smiled. "This is working out better than I thought it would. Oh, and Mary, be sure to mention to Lady Bryan that if she accepts this position, she'll be the head governess and expected to hire another governess of the same tendencies for Lady Ursula and any other children put under her care."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Mary said again. The other girls exchanged looks. Anne's acceptance of the Lady Ursula was something that made them all a little uncomfortable.

"Why are you placing her in your son's household?" Elizabeth blurted, and then hastily covered her mouth. She needed to remember that she couldn't speak to Anne like that.

But Anne didn't seem to mind very much.

"She's an innocent child," Anne reminded her companions. "And in our dislike of her mother, I think we forget that. She has the same right of any other child to receive love and affection from her father and have good role models about her. I think that Edmund's caretakers could provide her with a happier childhood and instill more virtues than the Lyons family could."

"That's what it is then," Katherine sighed, looking at Anne. "You don't want your husband's daughter to be as much of a harlot as her mother."

"That's one way of putting it," Anne laughed. "And I'd like to exercise some influence over her. Now that's she's in my care, at least nominally, I'll have a right to do that. The same goes for any other children of Ruth Lyons or some other mistress."

"That's clever," Bridget Wingfield agreed. "Although I don't think you should explain that reasoning to Lady Pole. She'd scold something terrible."

_2 October 1512_

"Being the King's maitresse en titre is simply splendid, isn't it?" Ruth Lyons smiled.

Her new ladies-in-waiting were hardly high-class, and there were only a dozen of them or so, but she was still the head of her own little household.

"You're very fortunate," her maid, Joan, replied idly.

"Yes, I am," Ruth giggled. "I suppose I'll be even more fortunate once I give the King a son. Did you know that the Queen is pregnant again? I suppose that means more time for me."

"Aren't you nervous that the Queen will have another son, and you won't?" another maid asked.

"Of course not," Ruth snapped. "There is no reason on earth why I shouldn't have a son with the King. I don't know why you're so pessimistic; missy, I don't like it. What's your name?"

"Amy Thatcher," the girl replied. "I'm only in your household temporarily. My mother was a good friend of Princess Margaret's, and I confidently expect to be in Princess Mary's household, if not the Queen's, in a matter of months."

"Good luck with _that_," Ruth scoffed, leaving her maids to continue their work. "I think I'll go see where the King is."

_4 October 1512_

"He's a sweet child," a maid whispered, gazing at Prince Edmund. She was only fifteen, hardly old enough to be at court, but her father had sent her nonetheless. Looking at the Prince, less than a year old now, she could not help but yearn for babies of her own.

"What is your name?" Lady Pole asked gently.

"Catherine Champernowne," she replied, still gazing at the infant tenderly. "My father is Sir John Champernowne, and my mother was Margaret Champernowne, but she died."

"Ah, yes," Lady Pole remembered. "You're betrothed to Sir John Ashley, am I correct?"

"Yes," the girl nodded dreamily. "I've been betrothed to him since I was a child. We were supposed to marry when I was fifteen, but he was off at Ludlow. We're supposed to marry soon, but for some reason it keeps getting put off."

"You'd like to be married?" Lady Pole smiled sympathetically. "Marriage is a huge goal in most girls' lives. But aren't you a little young?"

"Oh, no!" Catherine cried. "My mother was married when she was fourteen. I'm starting to think there's something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Lady Pole comforted. "On the contrary, you're a very pretty girl. It is just not God's will that you should be married quite yet. But don't fret; I'm sure your time will come. And you'll have lots of little babies to care for yourself one day."

"I suppose so," Catherine agreed. "Oh, I do hope you are right. I think I'd be a good mother, don't you?"

"I think you'll be a wonderful mother one day," Lady Pole agreed. "And a good wife, too. For now, why don't yet help me with the little ones? Bring Lady Ursula over here."

It mystified Margaret Pole when Anne ordered her to take Lady Ursula into the nursery. At first she thought it was surely Henry's idea; but it had gotten out quickly that it was Anne's. She still didn't understand the motivation behind the request, but she would follow it nonetheless. It was not her place to question the King and Queen's orders.

Watching as Catherine played with Lady Ursula, Margaret thought she might understand.

There was something innocent about the little girl; that had to be maintained, not ruined by ungodly influences.

**A/N: There you go, another chapter. Exams are over (yay!) so I might be able to concentrate more on writing. I hope, at least! Review!**


	13. Chapter 13

_7 November 1512_

"Welcome to court, Lady Bryan," Lady Margaret Pole greeted as the other woman shallowly curtsied. Lady Bryan was beginning her reign over the royal nursery today; poor Margaret Pole was sure she would miss it horribly. But she knew she had nothing to complain about, for the titles of her brother were being restored to her. As of today, King Henry would make her Countess of Salisbury.

She knew Anne had used some of her influence to make this happen.

"Prince Edmund and Lady Ursula are currently taking their naps," Lady Pole informed her successor. "We have a strict schedule for the royal children, only to be altered if a member of the royal family comes to visit."

"And if Mistress Lyons comes to visit?" Lady Bryan asked. When Mary Bowen had made the offer known to her, she had been very worried about the treatment of Lady Ursula and if Ruth Lyons was allowed the same freedoms as the King and Queen.

"Certainly not," Margaret Pole scoffed. "We would not interrupt the schedule of such important children for such an unimportant woman. Not that she would ever come to visit."

Even Margaret Bryan, who was by nature a hard, strict woman, who never let her emotions show, could not imagine that. What mother would abandon her own child to the care of others without coming frequently to ensure her child's safety? It was not natural.

"At what time will His Highness and Her Ladyship wake?"

"In an hour," said Margaret Pole kindly, with a sigh. "I will stay just long enough to say good-bye to them. They are looking forward to meeting you; a governess of their own is a very exciting prospect for them."

"Change does always prompt excitement for children," Lady Bryan agreed. "I look forward to meeting them as well. But I am sure they will miss you."

"Yes," Lady Pole agreed, before returning her attention to the necessities. "Now, in the event of a visit from a courtier…"

_12 November 1512_

"Really?" Queen Anne gasped and gripped her sister-in-law's hand. "What did Henry say?"

"Oh, he pretended to be pleased; but I don't think he was, to be honest."

"If I was being honest with you," Anne giggled, "I would tell you that he most certainly is not. He wanted to have two or three sons before his brother had even one, and now you're with child. But as I'm a Queen and a diplomat, then I shall tell you that my husband is delighted that you are with child and wants nothing more than a son and a nephew."

The two girls laughed and Anne gripped Katherine's hand.

"We'll have children so close in age," she gushed. "I'm due in April… when are you due?"

"June," Katherine smiled, "only a few months apart."

"Your child will be more than welcome in our nursery," Anne added.

"Of course," Katherine smiled. "I expect our children to be best friends, Anne. We're all going to be so happy."

_15 November 1512_

"The King desperately wants a boy off of you," John reminded his sister again.

"I know!" she snapped moodily. "With the Queen pregnant again he spends much of his time with me, John. Though he was furious last time I saw him – the Duchess of York is pregnant, as well, and the King must pretend to be delighted."

"Isn't he?" Maud asked.

"No," Ruth sighed at her sister who clearly understood nothing. "The more children he has, the better a King he is; but people like Prince Arthur better as he has children, too. Henry doesn't want them to think his brother is any better at fathering heirs then Henry is himself."

"He's paranoid," Sir Richard shook his head. "But that's good for us, Ruth. All he wants is children, and you are in a position to give them to him. And you shall."

"Naturally," Ruth agreed. "Stop worrying, Father. I'll be with child before the Queen has hers."

"You'd best be, or else the King will look to another mistress."

"No," Ruth snapped. "He won't lose interest in me."

_22 November 1512_

"Hush!" Katherine hissed.

"I'm quiet!" Elizabeth giggled back. "Oh, if Anne knew what we were doing…"

"She'd laugh," Marta scolded half-heartedly. "And then scold us; but it doesn't matter. It's wrong either way."

"It will make me feel better," Annie snapped. "Besides, this one is old and harmless. We've used it on Ivan a million times."

"But that's _Ivan_," Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "He loved our tricks. He thought they were cute. These English would find them barbaric and messy."

"But this will make Anne laugh," Annie reminded Marta, who frowned.

"I know," she said, "that's the only reason I'm letting you do this."

The girls quietly giggled as they set things up for their plan. It was an old trick – they had used it hundreds of times in Russia – but it would amuse Anne and humiliate Ruth.

It had been Katherine's idea, when they were young, to use this trick; Annie had pulled it off, brilliantly targeting those they wanted targeted and escaping the repercussions themselves.

They had not pulled this trick in a long while; in England they had played no tricks, and for a year or so before arriving in England they felt themselves far too grown up to play such childish pranks. But now they felt that even adults needed a laugh; it was high time they revived a few traditions.

_Later_

Lady Margaret Beaufort glared angrily at the wall behind her.

Since the death of her son, Lady Beaufort felt that the country had gone downhill. Certainly Henry and Anne were more than capable of running the country well, but they were more extravagant than she would have liked; they seemed to think that money was endless in England.

Lady Beaufort tried to remind herself that Elizabeth of York had been horrible – but she hadn't, not really. The reason Lady Beaufort hadn't liked Elizabeth was because the Queen had precedence over her and, in all honesty, a better claim to the throne than Margaret and her son did. But Katherine of Aragon was ten times worse!

The girl was insolent and seemed to think that she had some sort of superiority over the English. Oh, she was a member by birth of that grand House of Trastámara. She had significant amounts of Plantagenet blood to add to that, and was a princess three times over. Not to mention that her sisters were married into the powerful Portuguese house of Aviz and the even more powerful House of Habsburg. She was a princess with unimaginable connections.

But that was all she was – a princess, not a Queen. Margaret was remarkably fond of Anne, and was pleased to see Katherine beneath the Russian tsarevna. She was even gladder that Katherine would be beneath her granddaughter, the Queen of Scotland, if that lady ever returned for a visit; and she vowed that one day Princess Mary would marry a man who would make her, too, above the Spanish Infanta.

And Katherine of Aragon had the nerve – the audacity – to request of the Duke of York and King of England – Margaret's own grandsons – that she be removed.

Neither boy had said no.

That bothered Margaret Beaufort, but she put it down to the fact that neither wanted to upset Katherine in her condition by refusing her outright. She blamed Katherine, instead, for putting both boys in that position. How could they kick out their own grandmother? But how could they endanger a princess and a duchess by refusing her a simple request?

_That night, dinner in the Queen's chambers_

"Ahhhhh!" a shriek sounded through the palace. The door to the Queen's chambers burst open.

Ruth Lyons stood in the doorway, her face red, dry, and scratchy. Her eyes were bulging and oozing, and her lips, intended to be painted an alluring red, were swollen and painted a horrid purple.

Anne could not help let out a giggle at the sight.

"You bitch!" the mistress screeched, "You jealous, hateful, evil, BITCH!"

The room went deadly silent as Ruth Lyons pointed a finger at Queen Anne.

"I beg your pardon?" the Queen asked kindly, with a pretense of calm, as she internally stifled her laughter.

"_You_ did this because _he_ loves _me_!" Ruth angrily pointed her finger at the King, who was sitting across from Anne. "You did this because you wish he loved you! Well let me tell, you _Your Majesty_," she hissed sarcastically, "if he had to chose between us, he would chose _me_ over _you_!"

The ladies who were present were aghast at the spectacle before them. How _dare_ someone – the Queen's own lady-in-waiting! – speak in such a way to that great lady? Even if she was the King's mistress, it was simply unacceptable.

"And if he does not?" Anne smirked, sipping her tea.

Ruth raged and turned to Henry, determined to prove that she was favored above Queen Anne.

"You have come to my wife's chambers as her lady-in-waiting," Henry seethed quietly. "You have come here to serve her, and yet today you have provided us with a spectacle that will not be tolerated. You want me to choose between yourself and the Queen – I shall choose the Queen. You have nothing to accuse her of, nor any evidence to accuse her with. If you would be so kind as to leave, Mistress Lyons, you are dismissed. I am going to have to ask you not to return."

A moment of stunned silence followed the King's declaration before Ruth Lyons, her face ruined, stumbled hastily out of the room.

The silence was broken only by Anne's giggle.

"What," Henry gasped, "was that?"

"On old trick," Anne laughed harder.

"So it was you?"

"No!" she cried, alarmed. "No, it wasn't me. But that was an old trick my friends and I used in Russia. It was one of our more harmless pranks. We would rot some makeup and replace it with the makeup of some of the more annoying ladies in my brother's court. It was only done for amusement, really, and not at all in the past few years. But I cannot imagine that it wasn't my friends who pulled this trick."

Anne turned to look at her friends for confirmation. Timidly, Katherine, Elizabeth, Martha, and Annie stepped forward and curtsied.

"Indeed," Martha confessed with her head down. "It was us. Forgive us, Your Majesties."

"We're very sorry," Elizabeth added earnestly. "But she was so very conceited – and you do know how that gets on my nerves."

Henry glanced at the four women wordlessly, and could only think of one thing to do.

He threw his head back and laughed.

_25 November 1512_

Word of the incident had spread rapidly throughout court.

Anne's ladies had told their family and friends, who had told theirs, and soon it was all anyone could talk of.

"Ruth Lyons isn't the King's mistress anymore," Mary Bowen told the others gleefully. "She was banished from court! And he's asking her to remain away from London unless specifically invited back – not that she will be."

"That was brilliant," Susannah Harvey reminisced with a giggle. "It was treason, you know, for her to accuse Queen Anne, and call her Majesty such an awful word. But the King is not pressing charges – both of them found it far too humorous."

"Lady Margaret Beaufort was personally insulted," Madge Shelton giggled. "And the Countess of Salisbury was appalled. Princess Mary only wished she could be there."

"Oh, I'm glad I was!" Bridget Wingfield gasped. "Imagine if we had missed it!"

"A tragedy indeed," the Countess of Salisbury's voice said sternly from behind them. "You ought to not be gossiping, girls."

"We're sorry, Lady Salisbury," they chorused.

Ever since the arrival of Lady Bryan to the children's household, Lady Salisbury, formerly Lady Margaret Pole, had rejoined Anne's household in order to make sure that she was careful for herself and the child. When she wasn't helping Anne, she was helping Katherine.

"We're sorry, Lady Salisbury," Nan Saville giggled. "But even you must have found the incident amusing!"

The girls shrieked with laughter and surprise when Lady Salisbury cracked a smile and said, "Yes, I suppose I did."

_29 November 1512_

"War?" Anne breathed, "No, Henry, you can't."

"Of course I can," Henry argued. "The Pope is creating a Holy League against France, and I have every intention of being involved in it. All the members of the Great Alliance are, excepting Scotland."

"Why not England as well?" Anne argued, pleaded.

"Because I am the King of England, and I say we are going to war!"

"I would far rather we didn't," Anne argued again. "Oh, please, Henry, don't go!"

"Silly girl," he shook her off, but his tone was affectionate. "I am a King. I shall be fine. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. I love you," he added, before kissing her disgruntled forehead and promptly walking away.

**A/N: Talk about progress! Getting rid of Ruth (for good!) and getting an "I love you," out of Henry, all in one chapter! I'll try to post the next chapter soon (crossing my fingers for this weekend) but no promises about the baby's birth. By the way, thank you for all the ideas and support! I love my reviewers! And for those of you who thought of twin boys, it's a great idea and I might use it (hint, hint)!**


	14. Chapter 14

_2 December 1512_

Princess Mary smiled at the courtiers who surrounded her. She knew that she was young and pretty – only sixteen. Any day now, she would be hurried off to some other country to be Queen.

Today was not a party in her honor, but as far as she was concerned, it was a chance to shine. She adored her nephew, Prince Edmund, but it was only his _first_ birthday – he could hardly _enjoy_ it. Henry and Anne looked delighted, and Lady Bryan had her hands full with the Prince himself and his even littler sister, Lady Ursula.

Henry and Anne were chatting with Katherine and Arthur, both women with hands over their stomachs. Henry and Arthur seemed to be speaking politics, but as long as no one was paying attention to Princess Mary she didn't care what they spoke of.

A quick glance for her grandmother revealed that Lady Beaufort was occupying her time with glaring at Katherine. Mary herself got along with Anne far better than she did with Katherine, but she saw no reason for the glare on her grandmother's face.

People smiled and nodded as the Princess twirled around delightedly. She loved parties, and joust earlier had been magnificent. Henry had been the champion – but then, he always was. Arthur had done well, but had been defeated by Henry's final opponent, Charles Brandon.

Thinking of Charles Brandon made Princess Mary smile. He was Henry's age – not too old, but not too young either. Mary didn't like the younger men at all, but certainly couldn't stand the old ones. But Charles was handsome and young enough; and he was recently a widower. Mary adored his two daughters, Anne Brandon and Mary Brandon. She'd liked their mother, Anne Browne, even if she held some small bit of envy for the wife of Charles Brandon.

Shaking the thought from her head, Mary turned her attention back to the dance. She knew she wouldn't be here at the English court much longer. They were going to join the Holy League against France; surely the war would end in a Treaty that would involve her marriage. She wondered who her bridegroom would be.

Katherine of Aragon's nephew, Charles of Castile, was her most likely suitor. He was too young for Mary's tastes, but Katherine advocated the match that would again connect Spain and England. Anne hadn't said anything to her on the matter, and Mary was grateful for someone with no input. However, if the war ended with a French alliance, Mary might find herself married to Francis d'Angouleme, or some other French royalty. With her status, she could depend upon nothing.

_9 February 1513_

"It's so lonely here – so quiet with just us women and the children," Queen Anne sighed.

"Please God they'll come back home before the babies are born," Infanta Katherine sighed longingly.

"I doubt _that_," Lady Beaufort snapped. "April is only a few months away, and war takes time. You oughtn't be so hopeful, Katherine."

"I've seen many battles," the Infanta reminded her grandmother-in-law. "I've seen quick and easy ones and long and hard ones. We can only pray that these wars are the former."

"Either way they can't possibly be back before I have my baby," Anne sighed, "though I do agree that a quick and easy war would be preferable. I know Russia has no entered into the war at all… I would feel better knowing my brother was with my husband."

"My father is with them," Katherine reminded her. "You should trust him, for my father knows what he is doing on the battlefield. This shall all be over soon and we shall have a treaty."

"Perhaps a marriage treaty, too," Lady Beaufort added, glancing at Princess Mary. "She's more than old enough for that."

"But my nephew Charles is not," Katherine reminded her coldly.

"It was not _your nephew Charles_ that I spoke of. Perhaps he is a suitor – but he is not the only one."

"Why!" Katherine gasped, astonished, and Anne could see for a moment why Margaret Beaufort disliked her. She did not think that any alliance but the one she hoped for was possible. She did not think outside her own preferences. The thought that Mary might marry a prince who was not Charles of Castile seemed to hit her only now. "How dare you suggest such a thing?"

"She's right, Katherine," Anne attempted to mediate. "There's no guarantee that Henry will pick Charles as Mary's suitor. As far as I know, he isn't considering anyone at the moment, but when he does we can't assume he'll pick your nephew."

"Well, he ought to!" Katherine stood up to yell, her hormones raging. "He's the best match for her by far! No other match would secure the Anglo-Spanish alliance quite as well as this one."

"Henry's goal isn't necessarily to secure Anglo-Spanish relations," Margaret Beaufort snapped. "Anne is Russian. He may prefer to secure relations with Russia over Spain; not to mention that once the war is over, France and Scotland will become prospective allies."

"No!" Katherine yelled, out of control. "England and Spain must remain allies! It is of the utmost importance!"

"Importance to who?" Lady Margaret demanded, either not noticing or not caring how much she was upsetting her pregnant granddaughter-in-law. "Importance to you?"

Katherine gaped, unable to believe the old lady's insolence. "How dare you disrespect me and my country?"

"How dare you disrespect me and mine?"

"Stop it!" Anne cried, tears running down her cheeks. "For Heaven's sake, stop it!"

Both turned to look at her, before Anne dismissed them both with a wave of her hand. "Leave, now, both of you!"

_Later, that night_

"Your Majesty!" Susannah Harvey cried, bending over Anne's bed, "Your Majesty!"

"What is it, Susannah?" the Queen asked, alarmed at the suddenness of her being awoken.

"It's the Duchess of York," the breathless lady informed her mistress. "She's with the midwives now – they say she is miscarrying!"

"Dear God," Anne cried, remembering the horrible incident in which she had nearly lost her Edmund. Quickly, she rose from her bed and grabbed her nightgown. "Come, we should go to her. Have the Princess Mary and Lady Beaufort been informed?"

"Yes, they are waiting outside her chambers," Susannah informed her as they ran through the corridors of the castle. "Lady Salisbury is with the Duchess, and Lady Bryan is under strict orders to see that the children are not woken by all the noise."

"Good," Anne nodded as they finally reached the set of doors that belonged to Katherine.

"She's going to be alright," Princess Mary wept. "It was a girl, Anne. Arthur promised me that he would name his first daughter Mary."

"Oh, darling," Anne cried, hugging her sister-in-law. "Are you certain that Katherine will be fine? She won't have trouble conceiving now, will she?"

"None at all," the midwife answered from behind the Princess. "Her Highness should not risk a pregnancy at least for a few months, but considering that her husband is absent, that should not be an issue. But further pregnancies will not be affected."

"If they were, we'd have to set her aside," Margaret Beaufort declared.

"Whatever for?" Anne looked slightly angry. "Arthur adores her; if he has no objection to her remaining his wife, I cannot see how anyone else could have one. As for heirs, we've got Edmund and my baby on the way. There ought to be no need for Katherine's children to inherit the throne."

"None at all," Lady Beaufort agreed. "But proving the fertility of this dynasty is of the utmost importance. The Plantagenet's were respected for their notable fertility and connections with all royal families worth mentioning. But Katherine d'Aragon's family, the Trastámara dynasty, will have died out in the male line after the death of her father. We Tudors cannot risk that happening."

"It will not," Anne declared. "None of this will be mentioned to her Highness. Many women have miscarriages, particularly with the first few pregnancies. It is perfectly natural, and families who have many children often start with miscarriages. There is no need to criticize the Duchess of York."

"Yes, Your Majesty," they were forced to agree.

"Good," Anne glanced around her quickly. "Now, off to bed, everyone."

_23 March 1513_

"Katherine has miscarried," the King of England informed his brother, clutching in his hand a tear-stained letter from Queen Anne.

"I know," Prince Arthur, Duke of York, looked down in disappointment. "It was a girl. We'd have named her Mary – I promised our sister that we would."

"You'll have others," the King promised, not as glad about the miscarriage as he'd imagined he would be.

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "The midwives say it will not affect Katherine's ability to bear children. I am certain we will have many children still."

"You shall," Henry sat down. "When we come back, my Edmund and Ursula will be waiting. And with any luck, another jolly prince will be with them. And within a few months, our wives' will be with child again, and even more children will follow until we've both got more than we can remember all at once."

Arthur laughed, "I hope so," he sighed, "Your future sounds nice."

_4 April 1513_

"Is Queen Anne having the baby?" Katherine whispered to Lady Salisbury. Screams from the Queen's chambers reverberated through the halls.

"Indeed, Your Highness," the countess agreed.

"Good luck to her, then," Katherine said, with her brave face. "May this one be quick and painless."

"We can only pray," Lady Salisbury suggested.

"Yes, prayers will help," Katherine agreed, getting up and leading her ladies-in-waiting – mostly Spanish, due to the large number she had brought with her – to the chapel. Silently, she walked up to the statue of the Virgin Mary.

"My Lady," she whispered, "Be with our Queen Anne in her time of need; she her and her child safely through this delivery. And please," she whispered under her breath so that none of her ladies could hear, "do not let it be a girl. I could not bear it if she had a healthy girl while mine did not live."

_Hours later_

"Well?" Princess Mary asked eagerly. "Is it a girl or a boy? I want to be the very first to write Henry to tell him. If it's a boy he'll be simply delighted. I don't suppose he'll be too upset about a daughter, either, after what happened to Katherine and Arthur's baby."

"Twins," Martha announced as the Russian ladies came forward with the bundles, "Both perfectly healthy, and their mother resting peacefully. She'll be up in a moment."

"Twins!" Infanta Katherine cried as she felt a small stab in her heart.

"Two boys," Annie announced, and Katherine and Elizabeth came forward with the bundles. "Aren't they special?"

"Adorable," Princess Mary breathed.

"Three princes," Lady Beaufort smirked, "I knew I was right about Henry marrying a Russian princess. I most certainly was right in _that_ matter." She sent a glare towards Infanta Katherine, who steadfastly ignored it.

"They are very healthy-looking babies," she smiled, thanking the Lord that they were sons and not daughters. Two daughters – that surely would have broken her heart!

"What are they to be called?"

"William and Charles," Mary Bowen announced, stepping in from Queen Anne's chamber. "The Queen is awake, and told me to have them named William and Charles."

"Prince William, Duke of Lancaster," Elizabeth twirled around the baby in her arms. "He's the older one."

"Then this must be Prince Charles, Duke of Somerset," Katherine cooed at the child.

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Sorry to those of you who wanted Katherine to have a child, but I only plan on her having one surviving child, and she's not born until 1516. And Anne's got three boys now… definitely secure enough to have a daughter, too… but Elizabeth won't come until 1523, since I doubt she could be born in 1533 if her brother was born in 1511. I don't intend to focus much on the pregnancies anymore, though. For now it's going to be the Battle of Flodden Field, Margaret Beaufort's attempts to undermine Katherine, and Princess Mary's marriages. Please review!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So, I tried a million times to write the Battle of Flodden Field in this alternate history. Somehow, though, it never seemed right. So, instead, I've decided to start with right after the battle. Btw, sorry this took so long to put up.**

_12 September 1513_

For once, Lady Margaret Beaufort did not complain about the extravagance of the celebrations.

When the Scots had attacked England, she had briefly feared for their country. Most of the men had gone to fight with King Henry and Prince Arthur; who would defend England?

But she had been pleasantly surprised. Katherine of Aragon's tales of being a battlefield princess were not exaggerated - she knew what she was doing. And Anne, in all her wisdom, had known to listen to her. Margaret admired her for that: put in that situation, she knew her pride would keep her from listening to the Duchess of York's good advice.

Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, a man that she could trust only minimally, had come through for the dynasty. He and his sons had rode on behalf of Katherine and Anne, and thanks to them the battle was a magnificent success. Lord Dacre's help, of course, was always appreciated, and according to Anne he was invaluable. There were others, too, but Margaret had decidedly not wanted to hear it when Katherine and Anne had attempted to tell them about it. They had been high off of their victory, and the right and proper Lady Beaufort wanted nothing to do with it.

Princess Mary, of course, thought that it was 'terribly exciting,' as any young girl would. But Lady Beaufort was more worried for her other granddaughter and namesake, Margaret, now the Dowager Queen of Scotland.

The battle had made a widow of that young woman.

Her son, Prince James, was now King James V.

Margaret should probably have been pleased, as she was now the Queen Regent, but as any young widow would she was currently mourning.

Knowing her place, Lady Beaufort slipped away from the celebrations.

_15 September 1513_

"Majesty," a voice whispered, and Anne jolted awake.

"Mary," she smiled at Mary Bowen, who was bending over her with something in her hand. "I'm sorry, I must have dozed off. Is something wrong?"

"No, Madam," Mary curtsied, "A messenger just arrived with this letter from the King."

Anne took the letter, thanking Mary, and quietly went to read it.

"What does it say?" she heard Katherine's voice say a moment later. She had not heard her sister-in-law enter.

"Congratulations, from both of our husbands, on our victory over Scotland," Anne smiled, internally reliving the moment they knew that they had won. "They are so thrilled, Henry tells me. He expresses his joy over the boy's birth, and tells me to prepare his sister Mary for a betrothal."

"To whom?" Katherine inquired. She seemed to have accepted lately that Spain was not the only potential ally for England, though she made her preference clear.

"It does not say," Anne admitted.

"With any luck, not Charles of Castile," Lady Margaret Beaufort laughed, entering. "There must be better matches than that one."

"Perhaps there is, perhaps there isn't," Anne mediated before Katherine could say anything. "That is not our decision to make. Either way it is Henry's decision and it will do us no good to quarrel over it."

_22 September 1513_

"I've had enough of this!" Queen Anne ranted to her ladies. "Lady Beaufort is constantly trying to undermine or upset Katherine, and Katherine is retaliating just as badly! They're acting less mature than my boys! What on Earth can I possibly do?"

"Write Henry," Martha advised, but Anne shook her head.

"This isn't his problem, I should handle it," she said.

"Whack them both," Elizabeth giggled.

"I'm serious," Anne scolded, frowning at her friend. "Katherine, what do you recommend?"

"Have a meeting with both of them - separately," Katherine advised, "Make it clear to each that her actions will not be tolerated. Threaten Lady Beaufort with a nunnery if her behavior does not improve, and threaten the Duchess of York with being sent away to Yorkshire."

"That's actually remarkably clever, Katherine," Anne said, and her companions agreed. "I think I shall do just that."

_19 November 1513_

"Henry's negotiating a peace treaty with France," Queen Anne told her sister-in-law, Princess Mary. "Or, rather, he's having Wolsey negotiate a peace treaty with France for him. Anne of Brittany is unwell, and likely to perish soon, and your brother thinks to make you Queen of France."

"Marry King Louis XII!" Mary gasped in horror. "Oh, Anne, that would be terrible! He's so old; his daughters Claude and Renee are younger than me! Couldn't I marry his heir, Francis of Angoulême?"

"I'm afraid King Louis intends for Princess Claude to marry Francis of Angoulême," Anne said, shaking her head. "And nothing is definitive yet. Why, Anne of Brittany still lives! So don't worry about it quite yet."

"Of course," Mary agreed, but somehow Anne knew it would occupy the girl's thoughts for weeks to come. She remembered how nervous she had been prior to her marriage with Henry, and how disastrous the beginning of the that union had been. As Mary left, Ann turned to some of her ladies-in-waiting.

"Should I have waited for Henry's return to tell her?" she asked.

"No," Elizabeth gasped, "give her time to get used to the idea. If he thinks she's not pleased by his efforts to make her a Queen, he might think her ungrateful."

"Yes," Martha agreed, Annie nodding viciously at her side. "Its better that she knows."

_25 December 1513_

Queen Anne and Katherine, Duchess of York, were delighted to have their husbands present for Christmas.

There had been moments of doubt for all parties, times when they wondered if the army would make it home for the holiday. But now, together at last, the celebrations were wild and enjoyable for all parties.

As the royal couples danced with each other, Princess Mary flitted between partners, always coming back to one familiar face.

Charles Brandon had been friends with Henry for as long as Mary could remember. He now held the title of Baron Lisle in the right of his contracted wife, Lady Elizabeth Grey. Charles was widowed a few years before when his wife Anne Browne died, leaving him with two daughters, Lady Mary Brandon and Lady Anne Brandon.

For years, Mary had adored him.

"Hello, Charles," she said, with a charming smile. "How have you been?"

"Well enough," he smiled. "My girls are growing fast. Mary is already three, and Anne six. Time is flying by."

"They must miss their mother," Mary guessed, feeling pity for the little girls. She thought sadly of her own mother, Elizabeth of York.

"Yes," he agreed, "Anne misses her greatly. But Mary hardly knew her... which makes it sadder, I suppose."

"Of course," Mary said, "do they like Lady Lisle? Are they going to call her 'Mother'?"

"I don't know what they think of her," Charles admitted, startled at the idea of his daughters having actual opinions about the woman who would be their stepmother. "I never really bothered to ask. But I don't think they'll call her 'Mother'."

"I'll make sure to stop in and say hello to them next time I'm riding in the area. They're such sweet girls, and they must be lonely."

Mary thought sadly that she would rather have small children, like Mary and Anne Brandon, for her stepchildren than Princess Claude and Princess Renee, who were not much younger than herself.

The princess was glad for the presence of the men, who she had missed in the court since the war with France; but she found herself craving Charles Brandon's company above all, and for some strange reason, that scared her.

_14 January 1514_

"Mary!" King Henry yelled in an truly undignified manner. With a swift run, he caught the arm of his sister.

"Mary, I have just received word from abroad that the Queen of France, Anne of Brittany, has died five days ago. Princess Claude now calls herself 'Duchess of Brittany' and is betrothed to Francis of Angoulême; but France is without a Queen, and you may be considered to marry the King."

"And if I don't want to?" Mary asked. Henry's eyes narrowed.

"Do you want what is best for this country?" he snapped. "Our only true allies are the Russians. The Spanish are paying us so little attention you would think we are not worth their time, despite the fact that Katherine is our princess as much as theirs. If you marry the King of France, we will form an alliance with them; an alliance with them is an alliance with Scotland. And even though our sister Margaret is Queen Regent, she cannot stop the border raids without a solid alliance."

Mary sighed, then her eyes lit up with an idea.

"Alright, Henry," she bargained. "You can marry me to whomever you want - Charles of Castile, Louis of France, Francis of Angoulême, Anne's brother Ivan, I don't care who. But you have to promise me that when I return to England as a widow, you will allow me to marry a man of my own choosing, whether he be a prince or a peasant."

Henry sized up his sister. He could see the determination in her unwavering eyes, and the immutable temper flaring up beneath the surface of calm and dignity she held.

"Alright," he agreed, if only to placate her. "You can marry whomever you choose, when you return to this country as a widow."

_Later, Same Day_

Arthur, Duke of York, had sat with Charles Brandon and several of his brother King Henry's other friends.

Henry had just called his closest friends and advisers to a meeting with him regarding a matter of great importance. At the moment, Arthur could think of only one thing that needed to be addressed: Princess Mary's husband.

So he hadn't been surprised when Henry announced that Mary was going to marry King Louis. The newly-free King of France was a prestigious match, despite his old age. Mary would be Queen of France.

"My sister Mary is to marry the King of France," he informed his wife almost immediately following the meeting.

"No," Katherine moaned in protest. "She can't; Princess Mary has got to marry my nephew Charles."

"No, she doesn't," Arthur corrected her. "But I do believe that Henry intends for her to do so. For now, Charles is only a boy of thirteen or fourteen years. It is likely that he will one day be King of Spain, after the death of his mother, your sister, Queen Juana, and Holy Roman Emperor after the death of his paternal grandfather, Emperor Maximilian. But by the time he is ready to marry, Henry believes Mary will be a widow."

"That is true," Katherine agreed. "And if that is his plan, it is remarkably clever of him. I can live with it. But I wish she did not have to give us an alliance with France first. My family and the Valois are enemies."

_Meanwhile_

Charles Brandon was sad.

He had no right to be - he was a single, attractive young man. He was high in royal favor. He had two beautiful daughters of whom he was very proud. If Henry was to be trusted, he had a title coming his way.

But he was just now losing something he didn't even know he wanted.

It was dark; the lake sparkled. The night was cold, but Charles hardly noticed. All he could think about was Mary.

Princess Mary. She was his best friend's little sister, and more importantly, a princess. And he was just finally realizing how unattainable that made her.

She would marry a King, or perhaps two if Henry's plan worked. He would marry Elizabeth Grey, and go on forever wishing things had been different.

"Charles," he heard, and turned to see her. She was a vision, perfection in every way.

"Mary," he whispered, and without thinking he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

**A/N: Wow, I'm so sorry for the long time this chapter took. Don't worry, I fully intend to complete this story. **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. I've been writing bits of it for a while, but it never got completed. Anyway, there's a time jump here! Review!**

_8 March 1515_

"This is a mess!" King Henry ranted to his wife, Queen Anne. "An outrage! My own sisters, disgracing our family!"

"You needn't be so dramatic," Queen Anne scolded. In her arms, their newborn son, Prince Anthony, Duke of Bedford, let out a little cry. "It really isn't that bad."

"Not that bad!" Henry repeated angrily. "It's awful! I can forgive Margaret – I have to forgive Margaret. It was you and I, sweetheart, it was _England_ that killed her husband on the battlefield and made a widow of her. When she married – what was his name?"

"Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus," Anne reminded him calmly.

"Yes, well, when she married Angus I was angry; you remember. But I didn't _say_ anything, because she is a widow through a battle with England. And now she is with child – due around October – and I cannot scold her."

"Of course not, dear," Anne agreed absently, most of her attention on little Anthony.

"But _Mary_," Henry hissed, "Mary."

"She married the King of France, as you asked," Anne reminded him, her voice defensive of her friend and sister-in-law. "And you _did_ promise her that she would be able to choose her next husband when King Louis died."

Henry glared at his wife. "But I did not intend to keep that promise!"

"Then shame on you," Anne said sternly. "It is your true comeuppance that she and Brandon married before you could stop it."

"And Brandon!" Henry added in distaste. "He is supposed to be my friend, my dearest friend. Now he has married my sister against my wishes, and I am sure that I cannot forgive him."

"You will forgive him," Anne said, her voice harsh. "He is, as you say, your dearest friend. You gave him the title Duke of Suffolk as a show of your favor; you have allowed his daughters, Lady Anne Brandon and Lady Mary Brandon, a place in the royal nursery with our own boys and your daughter. You will not turn your back on such a close friend."

"I can and I will!" Henry protested.

"No," Anne said, rather calmly for a woman who once would not have disagreed with her husband. "You will not."

_29 March 1515_

The former Princess Mary, now Dowager Queen of France and Duchess of Suffolk, had been surprised at the warmth of her welcome back into the English court.

"I expected banishment," Mary laughed to her husband as they lounged in their new suites. "Instead I was welcomed as a foreign Queen, as I would have been if we had not married. Henry is providing me with a household close in size to Anne's; it is even a little bigger than Katherine's!"

"You and Katherine can both claim the titles of Princess and Duchess," Charles reminded her affectionately. "You can claim Queen as well, even if only Queen Dowager."

"That is true," Mary agreed, practically dancing around the room. "I am higher in rank than even my elder sister Margaret! She, too, is Princess and Dowager Queen, but she is also a Countess, not a Duchess."

"Henry was angry when your sister remarried," Charles recalled, confusion clear in his voice. "I expected worse when it was us."

"So did I," Mary agreed, "and I thank Anne for it. He must have been softened by the new baby, Prince Anthony; he was born the same day that the news arrived – March 7th."

"That would explain it," Charles agreed. Having another son always did put Henry in the best of moods.

"It is so good to be back in England," Mary continued. "And I was very glad to see your daughters; I think they are glad that I am to be their stepmother. I do like your little girls! And they are so good with my nephews."

"I was pleased that your brother gave them a place in the royal nursery," Charles agreed; it was true, he was very grateful for his friend's – his brother-in-law's – generosity. "They will have the best education possible, thanks to him."

"And such shows of favor will win them good husbands," Mary added knowingly.

"That, too."

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Mary was giddy at the prospect of a new life with Charles Brandon, who she loved. They were going to be happy, she decided – she and Charles and Henry and Anne and Arthur and Katherine and perhaps even Margaret and her Archibald – especially with all the children.

In Mary's eyes, at that one moment, the world was simply perfect.

_7 April 1515_

Lady Margaret Beaufort detested feeling _old_. Sadly, that was primarily the way she felt lately.

If she was to die now, Margaret supposed, she could die happy.

Henry was King, and he had four healthy sons – Edmund, William, Charles, and Anthony – to follow him. He had a good queen in Anne, and Margaret fully approved of her.

Furthermore, while both of her granddaughters disappointed her in their choices for their second husbands, they were both titled. In addition to that, both women were Dowager Queens. This – much to Margaret's satisfaction – meant that both Mary and Margaret, as well as Anne, undoubtedly outranked Katherine, Duchess of York.

This was surprisingly important to Lady Margaret. Nothing had made her happier than Mary's marriage to King Louis – and not to Charles of Castile, Katherine's cousin, despite his promising future. Internally, Margaret had even felt a little victorious when Mary married Charles Brandon. Though he was a duke, it was not a match Lady Margaret would have recommended to the girl; but it meant that Mary of England would never be the wife of Katherine's nephew.

Knowing that this news had distressed Katherine had enhanced Margaret's small triumph.

There were many things that Margaret would change about England, of course. Anne was doing a marvelous job, but someone ought to insist that Katherine have less power and influence. Arthur's was certainly justifiable – as the brother of King Henry, he was a natural advisor – but Katherine and Anne's friendship unnerved Margaret. She liked that Queen Anne was close to Queen Mary, and wrote frequently to Queen Margaret.

If asked, Margaret would never be able to say what had started her dislike of Katherine of Aragon; but somehow it had spiraled into the intense hatred she now felt. Nothing satisfied her more than to see the woman brought down a notch or two, this haughty daughter of Spain's Catholic Monarchs.

Lady Margaret Beaufort, the King's Grandmother, closed her eyes warily, still thinking.

Everything she owned would go to Henry when she died, and Margaret was perfectly alright with that arrangement. That would leave Arthur in a position where he would never be a challenge to Henry's line – which meant Katherine would never be in a position to challenge Henry's line.

All was right in the world; she could find nothing that she had to change before leaving this world, so Lady Margaret Beaufort promptly closed her eyes – and died.

_12 April 1515_

The King and Queen themselves could not attend the funeral of Lady Margaret Beaufort, the King's grandmother, by virtue of being a King and a Queen. The princes were far too young to attend by themselves as the family's representatives; Queen Margaret's son, King James, was also too young, and a King to boot; she herself was with child and could not travel; Queen Mary and Charles Brandon could not attend either, for Lady Mary Brandon had an ear-ache, and they would not leave her alone.

That left Arthur, Duke of York, and Katherine, Duchess of York, to represent the family in mourning for Lady Beaufort.

"I didn't even like the woman," Katherine hissed under her breath. "She's far better dead than alive."

"Hush," Arthur scolded. "That may be true, but one does not speak ill of the dead, especially at her own funeral."

Katherine thus refrained from commenting on her dislike for her grandmother-in-law, but she did not refrain from thinking horrid things about Lady Margaret Beaufort.

It was really about time that the horrid woman died.

Katherine had long ago become sick of the constant undermining she suffered at the old hag's hands; she had long ago lost patience with attempting to tolerate the woman, and forgive her for the treatment she suffered. She would never forgive the comment Queen Mary – at the time still the naïve princess – had inadvertently related to her: the Lady Margaret had insinuated that should she not have a child, Katherine should be cast aside.

Mary's outrage and Anne's response were appreciated, but the sting of the comment had not eased with Katherine's latest miscarriage, and her lack of an heir for Arthur's duchy. If Arthur had married someone else – a princess of France, perhaps, or one of Germany's numerous offerings – it may be that he would now have a little son to teach and train and love; perhaps he would even have a little girl to dote upon and call his own little princess.

Katherine wanted all of that so badly, both for herself and for Arthur; she prayed nightly for a child, any child, so long as her child was healthy. She did not want Anne's healthy brood of boys, unless God saw fit to grant one such as it to her. But she was not sure she would be able to content herself with God's plan if she was not to be granted some child – any child – of her own.

_My will is God's will_, her mother, Queen Isabella I, had often told her in her youth, and Katherine had never doubted her word. Queen Isabella wanted her child to have a child, so God too must wish it. Doubtless a baby would come into the York branch of the Tudor family soon – very soon.

Katherine needed to have faith in that.

_Please, Lord_, she begged in her mind as she knelt to – supposedly – pray for Lady Margaret. _Do not abandon me now; You, who have been so loyal to me and to mine; do not abandon this dearest wish of my heart. Grant me a child, a little baby to love._

_19 April 1515_

"Perhaps you are right," Henry said to Anne, "perhaps I am harsher on my sisters than I need to be. Neither of them has ruined herself; they are, overall, respectable ladies."

"What has brought this on?" Anne asked curiously.

"It just seems as though they are happy, sweetheart, that is all," Henry told her. "And I do hope that Margaret will send her child to England when it is born, so that he or she may be raised with our own sons and daughters. The new baby will have no claim to the throne of Scotland; the English claim will be closer."

"That is true," Anne agreed thoughtfully. "I will mention it to her when I write next."

"Good, good," Henry nodded absently. "Well, good-bye, sweetheart, I've business to attend to."

Anne nodded as Henry left her rooms.

As soon as he did, he abandoned his entourage and made headway for the gardens.

"Lady Wilmington," he said to the lady whom he met on the path. "What a pleasant surprise. How do you do?"

"Your Majesty," the pretty young baroness curtsied. "I am well; I am very glad to be at court. My husband is an old man, and he has stayed in the country while I come to court. I do love it in London."

"I quite agree," Henry said, taking her arms and walking with her. "There is never a place quite like London. Will your husband make you come home soon?"

"I may stay, if I find a position here at court," Lady Wilmington informed him, looking up at him through thick lashes. She let out a little sigh, with a pout. "I have had little luck, thus far."

"I am sure there is something that can be done to find you a… position… here at court."

"Oh, thank you, Your Majesty, how kind of you to say," Lady Wilmington blushed prettily. She could not have been more than twenty-two, and she had been married for the past three years to one of England's oldest lords, a widower baron with five or six fully grown children – all of whom were older than Lady Wilmington herself.

"It is not a problem," Henry said, feeling elated. "Not a problem at all…."

**A/N: I think we see where this is going…. Anyway, please review! I want to hear your opinions!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Here's another chapter! So sorry for the long wait, it won't happen again, I promise. I'll be updating more often now.**

_12 October 1515_

"What excellent news," Queen Anne proclaimed at the letter Queen Mary had just shown her. "I am sure Queen Margaret is delighted with her new little daughter."

"Yes, she seems very happy," Queen Mary agreed.

"Of course," Katherine, Duchess of York, noted with irony, "as soon as this family is rid of one Lady Margaret, another is born."

"Katherine!" Anne scolded, shocked. The ladies of all three households looked astonished. "You ought to not say such things."

Katherine meekly cast her eyes downward at her sewing, but there was a small ironic smile on her face.

"My sister also agrees that Lady Margaret Douglas should be raised in England's royal nursery," Mary added. "The child is rather close to the English throne, so it is fitting; but my sister's primary reason for agreeing is that the future of Scotland in the Regency is so ambiguous. It would be safer for her here."

"I imagine so," Anne nodded. "That is wise of her. I would offer to take King James; but that is simply unseemly. The King of Scots ought to be raised in Scotland and amongst the Scottish. We would not want a Scottish King of England anymore than they would want an English King of Scotland."

"Yes," Katherine agreed. "It would not be wise for King James to leave his country while still so young. There are those in Spain – treasonous, of course – who say they do not want my nephew Charles of Castile to be King when my sister Queen Juana dies. They say he was raised in the Netherlands and in Germany; they claim that he is not Spanish enough for the title."

Anne cast her head down, not saying a word.

"That is a sad state of affairs," Queen Mary said. "Undoubtedly Charles of Castile should inherit from his mother, and from his grandfather the Holy Roman Emperor as well, as his father is dead. It is treason to think otherwise."

Anne agreed with this, and verbalized her amazement that any should protest the natural passing of titles from parent to child.

"Of course, there were those who protested my mother inheriting Castile in the first place," Katherine admitted to her companions. "My mother was Isabella, the second surviving child of three, and only surviving daughter, of King Juan II of Castile. Her brother Enrique IV was King for many years, and her brother Alfonso was his heir until his death. Enrique's wife Queen Juana – a horrible woman, my mother says – was the mother of a daughter that none believed to be legitimate. Princess Juana became Queen Consort of Portugal; but she was a bastard, so my mother became Queen at Enrique's death."

Anne lowered her eyes; she was aware that there was discrepancy over the truth of Isabella's claim that her 'niece' was a bastard and not Enrique's child at all. Many confirmed the story, even Queen Juana's closest acquaintances, but some were not sure. The Pope concurred with his faithful Isabella, of course; but Anne wondered if this was not just a rumor that Katherine's mother used to her advantage.

But it did not matter now, so Anne did not challenge Katherine's version of events.

"So undoubtedly Charles is the heir now," Anne replied; "and you, Mary, could have had him if you wished. How do you feel now?"

"I would not change my choices for anything," Mary said proudly.

Anne did not mistake the glare in Katherine's eyes. This surprised her; while Mary marrying the Duke of Suffolk over her nephew had originally insulted Katherine, she seemed to have gotten over it lately. And she had most definitely mellowed out ever since she discovered that she was due to have a child in February.

Anne sighed to herself in annoyance. Why could this family simply not get along? She did not want anything to change.

_29 November 1515_

Queen Anne smiled as she placed little Lady Margaret Douglas down in her crib. The nursery was growing rapidly. Her own four boys – Edmund, Prince of Wales, William, Duke of Lancaster, Charles, Duke of Somerset, and Anthony, Duke of Bedford – were all hearty and healthy, however, and enjoyed the companions. Lady Ursula, Ruth Lyons' daughter, was a happy child, despite her status.

The Duke of Suffolk's two daughters, Lady Anne Brandon and Lady Mary Brandon, adored Lady Margaret immediately. She was so small, having been sent over from Scotland as soon as her mother felt that she would survive the journey. Queen Anne could not imagine that she would be so easily separated from her own children, but she could not be positive. If England was considered unsafe, wouldn't she want her children to somewhere that she could be certain they would never be harmed?

"Your Majesty," said Nan Saville hesitantly from Anne's side, "Sir Thomas Woodhouse is requesting an audience with you."

Anne smiled, knowing exactly what this was about: Sir Thomas wished to marry one of her favorite ladies, Madge Shelton. The Shelton family had recently been arranging marriages for their children with surprising fervor: Madge to Sir Thomas Woodhouse, her brother John to Margaret Parker, and her sister Mary to Heveningham. Even some of the younger Sheltons, Ralph, Thomas, and Anne, were being betrothed, respectively to Amy Woodhouse, Anne Appleyard, and Edmund Knyvet.

But only this potential match affected Anne, though she would not refuse. Sir Thomas Woodhouse would be good to Madge, and Anne wanted her ladies to be happy. But she had just lost Bridget Wingfield to marriage, and thought it was too soon to lose Madge. Next, she was certain, would be Madge's cousin, Mary Bowen, whose brother George was just betrothed to Jane Parker. Undoubtedly, Mary's father was looking interestedly at her potential suitors.

"Yes, I'll see him in a moment," said Anne with a sigh. First Bridget, now Madge, then Mary… soon Margaret Wyatt, Nan Saville, and Susanna Harvey would go.

Even her oldest and most loyal Russian ladies were leaving her service, or contemplating it. Katherine thought that Queen Anne did not know, but she was being courted by Sir Richard Wilson, and liked him very much.

When the time came, Anne would not refuse to give her friends the happiness they deserved.

She kissed the children good-bye as she left the nursery and walked purposefully back to her own quarters, with Nan trailing behind her.

"Sir Thomas," she greeted when she arrived, to see the man standing anxiously. She knew that he already had permission to marry Madge from the Sheltons, and she knew Madge had no objections. "This is a pleasant surprise. Why have you come to visit me?"

"Your Majesty," Sir Thomas bowed, "it is an honor. I have come to request Your Majesty's permission to offer marriage to your attendant, Mistress Shelton."

Sir Thomas' voice did not waver, but his hands were wringing his hat severely, betraying his nerves. Queen Anne smiled kindly. "Very well," she said. "If Mistress Shelton's parents agree to the match, and she herself does, too, then you can be assured of my support and blessing."

Sir Thomas bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Anne waved her hand to dismiss him, and he backed gratefully out of the room.

"Well, I shall lose Madge now, as I lost Bridget," she said sadly. "And I do not doubt that within a year, none of the original faces will remain in my chambers."

_25 December 1515_

It was Christmas. As much as Queen Anne loved this holiday, she could not find it in her to rejoice this day, when between tomorrow and New Years', she would lose her favorites at an alarming rate.

Mary Bowen would marry Sir William Carey; Madge Shelton would marry Sir Thomas Woodhouse; Katherine would marry Sir Richard Wilson; and Nan Saville would marry Sir John Harvey, Susanna's brother. All of these marriages would take place in the six days between Christmas and New Years, as part of the celebrations.

"It shouldn't bother me," said Queen Anne to Queen Mary. "I don't know why, but I feel as if I am losing the only friends I shall ever have."

"I felt that way too, when I first lost my favorites," Mary assured her. "You will get used to it, and none are as bad as the first few favorites that you let go. And you are not really losing them; they will all come back to court sometimes, and certainly they will visit you."

"Yes," Anne agreed. "And Elizabeth has sworn off marriage, if you would believe that. She says she will serve me for all her days, if I will only let her. She was always a little silly, but I love her nonetheless."

"I am sure you have favorites still in your household," Katherine of Aragon added.

"I will have Margaret Wyatt and Susanna Harvey, after the weddings," Anne admitted, "and, of course, Martha, Annie, and Elizabeth. Though it shall be strange to have them and not Katherine."

"You will soon have more favorites," said Mary. "Girls come and go in your household, and some are easier to be fond of than others, but they will all come and go."

And, as if this Christmas was not difficult enough, Henry was parading Lady Wilmington around court. Everybody knew that she was his mistress, even if he had not given her the official title maîtresse en titre. No one had held that since Ruth Lyons, and Anne could not think of Lady Ursula's mother without smirking a little at the prank her friends had played.

"Alright," Anne finally said to the girl doing her hair and makeup. "I am ready. It is time to make my appearance."

_16 January 1516_

"Anne!" cried Katherine, Duchess of York, delightedly. "Oh, I am so glad to see you. It is so lonely here sometimes with just my ladies."

Anne glanced around at the girls of Katherine's household. It had become rather a joke at court how quickly the English girls cycled in and out of the Duchess of York's household, while none of the twenty Spanish ladies had been married off yet. It seemed Katherine had a harder time sacrificing her favorites than Anne did.

Maria de Salinas, Katherine's favorite, was arranging the bed sheets around her.

"It can," Anne agreed. "But you have many good companions. And it will all be worth it, in a month, when you hold your child."

"Oh, I do hope so," Katherine gushed. "I am so excited I could burst. I can't decide whether I want a son, which I know Arthur would like, though I don't think he would mind a daughter, either."

"He wouldn't," Anne agreed. "He promised Queen Mary he would name his daughter after her; he has a promise to keep."

"That is true," said Katherine. "I shall love her, regardless, if it is Mary in here. I just want a healthy child more than anything."

"So do we all," Anne agreed. "And believe me, you are in all of our prayers."

Katherine nodded gratefully, rubbing her swollen stomach. "I don't know what I will do if I lost another one," she admitted quietly.

Anne did not know what to say.

_18 February 1516_

"It's a girl," said Queen Anne, holding out the tiny child. Arthur, Duke of York, gaped at his sister-in-law.

"A healthy girl?" he asked. "She's going to live? They're both going to live?"

"Yes," Anne assured him. "Katherine and the baby are both well. Mary and Maria de Salinas are with Katherine now." She placed the baby in her father's arms. "I should be getting back, myself."

Arthur was looking adoringly at his little daughter. "Can you believe it, Henry?" he asked his brother. "I'm a father!"

"Congratulations," King Henry said, patting his brother on the back. "She's beautiful. What are you going to call her?"

"Mary, of course," Arthur said. "You'll be godfather, won't you? And we can have Mary and Anne as godmothers."

The King accepted, smiling down at his little niece. He was happy for Arthur and Katherine, glad that they had a child who pleased them so much, but equally glad that there was no Prince of York to threaten his own sons. It was not that he did not trust his brother, or his nephews, but the Tudors had emerged as the royal family after generations of constant warfare between cousins and brothers.

He could not have any risks taken.

But little Princess Mary of York could not possibly be a threat to his own sons. He would welcome her wholeheartedly to join her cousins in the royal nursery.

**A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review! And thank you, too, for everyone who has stuck it out and waited for this chapter!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: This was up a little quicker, but not as fast as I was hoping. Sorry for the wait!**

_16 July 1517_

"Look at her, Henry," sighed Queen Anne, cooing over the new baby, Lady Frances Brandon. "Isn't she just precious? Oh, I love my boys, of course, but I should like to have a daughter, too."

Henry frowned at his wife. He was pleased, of course, that Charles and Mary were happy with their newborn daughter. Neither of them had shown any more disappointment over her sex than Arthur and Katherine had over Mary of York's. And he would never abandon a child of his just because it was a girl; but was Anne honestly _hoping_ for a girl? What was _wrong _with her?

"Now, Anne," he said. "I believe its time to give little Frances back to her parents."

Anne nodded, reluctantly handing the little girl over to Charles.

"Actually," said Charles, glancing toward the bed where his wife now slept, exhausted from the ordeal of childbirth, "I'd like to stay here with Mary, but someone has to take the baby to the nursery. Your Majesty, if you would be so kind…" he trailed off.

"Of course," Anne said, taking the child back. "I'll go right now. Henry, are you coming or staying?"

"I'll join you," he said, "and give them some time."

Courtiers bowed and stepped out of their way as King Henry and Queen Anne made their way to the wing of the palace designated as the nursery. As Anne anticipated, none of the children were sleeping when they arrived. Prince Edmund, who was five years old and the oldest, bounced up and down eagerly.

"Let me see!" he said. "It's a baby!"

"Her name is Frances," Anne said softly.

"A girl!" cried Lady Ursula delightedly. "Oh, good!"

Prince Edmund made a face and walked away, disappointed.

"Come see her, boys," Anne said to her own children. William and Charles walked over hesitantly, and Anthony wobbled on his chubby little legs. "She's only hours old."

For a few minutes the little princes hovered, but they quickly lost interest in their cousin and wandered off around the nursery to find their own little amusements. Lady Ursula lingered.

"Where are Lady Margaret and Princess Mary?" asked Anne, glancing up at Lady Bryan.

"Princess Mary is sleeping, Your Majesty," said Lady Bryan. "And Lady Margaret should be."

Anne chuckled, knowing how difficult Lady Margaret Douglas was to put to bed. Nodding, she rose to her feet, and began to walk the child over to the crib to lie down.

Suddenly, the door to the nursery burst open. Startled, Anne looked over to see two young girls, who had just burst in, kneeling on the ground to her and Henry.

"Oh, heavens," she said. "You startled me."

"We're sorry, Your Majesty," the older girl, the ten-year-old Lady Anne Brandon, said.

"We only wanted to see our new sister," said the seven-year-old Lady Mary Brandon.

"Well, then, here she is," Anne said, laughing, and gesturing for both sisters to rise. "I'd forgotten you two were at court, or else I would have brought her to see you."

Both girls crowded around the Queen, cooing over the baby.

It was unusual for them to be at court. For the most part, they lived with their father and stepmother at Westhorpe Hall in Suffolk. Even when Charles and Mary came to court, which was frequently, the girls remained at home, and Charles and Mary made it a point to spend as much time as possible there with them.

"That's enough," said Henry after a few moments. "It is late." He nodded to the Brandon girls. "Off to bed; you can see your sister again in the morning, and I'm sure you can see your stepmother, too." He turned to Lady Bryan, adding, "It's high time the children were in bed."

_9 August 1517_

"I don't know what has gotten into Henry," said Queen Anne to her sisters-in-law. "He's usually so fond of the children; I can't understand why he's so sulky now."

"Because there's just as many girls as there are boys," said Katherine. "He liked having a boys' nursery."

"He's splitting all the children up and sending them away," Anne said sadly. "I agree with him that the country is the best place for children to be raised; it's healthier and cleaner than London, and more structured than the court. And Eltham and Hatfield are two perfectly good palaces. But why not just use one, and have one royal household?"

"Because Henry is a man," said Queen Mary. "And men are stupid."

Even Anne cracked a smile at this, but she wasn't sure how the others were taking this so well. Her boys were being moved to Eltham Palace in less than a week, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be so far away from them. She knew that sooner or later Edmund was going to have to go to Wales, and set up his own household at Ludlow, but that was different. This was _all_ of her babies, and even if they weren't going as far away, she would miss them terribly. It didn't help that Lady Ursula, Lady Margaret, Princess Mary, and Lady Frances were all going to Hatfield House, another royal palace, to make their own nursery.

Of course Anne intended to visit both houses, but this meant that she would have to split her time between them. What was Henry thinking? Did he want one house of children to think themselves more neglected than the other? What about Katherine and Mary? Why didn't they object to their daughters being sent away?

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, and she was being dramatic… but right then Anne just wanted her own mother.

_6 February 1518_

"Annie," Queen Anne said to her maid, "is it just me, or does Bessie Blount seem to be taking an awful lot of time off lately?"

Annie hesitated. "I don't know, Your Majesty."

The Queen caught her hesitation. "What do you mean, you don't know?" she demanded. "You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?"

Annie didn't answer, which was an answer unto itself.

"Tell me, Annie."

The Russian girl flinched at the demand. "Annie."

"Oh, just tell her," said Martha, coming into the room. "If she wants to know so badly she might as well, no matter how angry she is."

Still, Annie couldn't say anything. Susannah Harvey came up to the Queen, curtsied, and took her mistress' hand. "Bessie Blount is the King's mistress, Your Majesty."

For a moment, Anne was struck dumb.

Henry hadn't given up mistresses, of course. Anne knew that; sometimes she even knew the identities of his mistresses – mostly widows, some married women, a few singers and performers obviously some whores. But since Ruth Lyons, the King had very successfully stayed clear of his wife's household, which was nice, as it allowed Anne to have some trust in her ladies.

Finally, Anne cast her eyes down at her sewing. "Never mind," she said, taking her hand sharply for Susannah. "Forget I asked."

The girls lingered for a moment, but seeming to accept that Anne wasn't going to say anything else, they slowly returned to their tasks, keeping their eyes upon the Queen, who was stabbing her husband's shirt with a needle.

"What news is there from home?" she asked Martha sharply.

"What?" asked Martha, confused at the sudden shift.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Martha," demanded the Queen, "distract me!"

_19 January 1519_

"I'm just so delighted," said Queen Mary. "I love Frances and Charles' girls so much, and having children is so wonderful that I'm so happy to have another one. Maybe it will be a boy this time."

Anne sighed. "Don't worry too much about the sex of the baby," she ordered her sister-in-law. "I think Charles is more like Arthur that Henry; he doesn't care much about whether the child is a son or a daughter."

"You give him too much credit," Mary told her. "Charles has never reproached me for Frances' sex, and if this is another girl he won't reproach me for that, either. But I think that has more to do with the fact that I am Princess of England and Queen of France, and he's well aware that he's nobody compared to that, and he's lucky I married him, than that he has some understanding of the fact that women can't control the baby's gender."

"Fair enough," Anne agreed. "Did he reproach Anne Browne? She gave him two daughters."

"Their marriage was so messed up I can't imagine that he did," Mary laughed. "But you're lucky. Even if you have a daughter, you've given your husband four healthy sons. You'll never hear a word of reproach on that topic, not like Katherine or I."

"I'm willing to bet that neither your nor Katherine will ever hear on, either," the Queen said. The two women parted as they reached Anne's rooms in the castle.

Her maid, Elizabeth, was waiting when she got there, hesitating.

"What is it, Elizabeth?" demanded the Queen sharply. "Bad news from Russia?"

"What?" the poor girl looked startled. "Oh, no, Your Majesty, not that. I… um…" she hesitated. "Have you heard about the pregnancy?"

"Oh, Queen Mary's?" Anne looked surprised. "We were just discussing it."

"Queen Mary is with child?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes, isn't it wonderful?" asked Anne. "I'm so pleased for her." It took her a moment to register the conversation. "Wait a moment… you didn't know of it?" She looked sharply at Elizabeth. "Whose pregnancy were _you_ talking about?"

**A/N: I think we all know whose pregnancy Elizabeth was talking about. Welcome to this world, Henry Fitzroy. **


End file.
